musings from the window… (dreaming of gingerbread houses)

musings from the window… (dreaming of gingerbread houses)

I might see the allure now, everything capped and framed in blankets of pure white, the tempest has gone out to sea, the world has settled teetering towards normalcy, the grit and dirt of the pace has not had a chance to corrupt the scene, the cold freezes the world or slows this down as much at least, enough to breathe and watch like chimneys slowly blowing smoke into the sky ceiling, there is a palpable silence to grip when the landscape has been dressed like this, when the local habitat endures the blunt instrument of winter, even the plowed remains, piled up against the curb seem like majestic sculpted berms, foot prints are deep and mark the paths, a distinct record of those who have passed just before you, you size up your shoe against theirs, like a game, filling the gaps with your own gate as you go, gingerbread houses, just make sense to me now, in this moment, covering flaws, making uniform the houses on the street regardless of style and year, I suppose I am dreaming, streaming in the land of rockwell, of sleds and mittens, of hot cocoa, piles of boots scattered in the front hall, sure, the world bounces back swift and the race is back on, shortly, but for a moment, transformed, a neighborhood of warm gingerbread houses is mine to adore…

notes… hey, we got 18 inches of snow here give or take, Edison NJ proper, well, at least to me, north Edison, just outside the donut that is Metuchen, just left of Iselin the Asian Indian capital of the region (damn I am spoiled food wise you can’t imagine, pizza and vindaloo to die for within 10 blocks)

the trojan horse, for therefore I am…

the trojan horse, for therefore I am…

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

we are the masters of our own domain, we raise the walls, we setup the defenses, and yet we may be betrayed by our own voices and impulses, maybe this tale is true, men lying in wait inside a glorious now notorious gift, or perhaps it is one of the greatest metaphors of all, troy did not welcome the horse with open arms, so I’m told, or so is written, there were voices of dissent, and those who chose not to listen, so we are troy, perhaps easily repelling an overt invasion, but persuasion, the soft penetration of sophistry, seduction, the art of deception so you hang on your own noose, sounds preposterous, and so it is, on the face, but how many of our proclivities may overrun, maybe they do not open the gates all at once and let the enemy pounce on sudden corpse, but more like insipid poison, gladly taken in with wine filled glass-fulls, glad gulps of our own demise, all in the name of feast and compromise, for are we not beasts that reside in the cultivated fields of temptation, so far removed from plains and migrations, somewhere that lurks, we are not a patchwork of circuits, flesh and blood, no matter what we may think or elevate above the other species, flesh and blood begets the same, as virgil says (or so quoted) “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes” translated to: ‘I fear greeks, even those bearing gifts’, for greeks are merely the name of that day for the malady lying at their own feet, for many years I have always thought of the story as a great tale of war and beware, but more these days I fear I may have written this chapter on my own lair many a time, eager to hold up a trophy minor victory or none, hold my name up to the sun, or worse boast to fly closer like an icarus run, this all seems so clear, so obvious now, how fallible and foolable this form can be, me, how can I be my brother’s keeper with my own loose gate, so maybe that is the avatar, the symbol, the meme to remind me of fate, a hollow horse or not so hollow horse, to keep me on course and remember that I control the comings and goings of my castle, there is the one enemy out there that will surely flatten my walls, pierce my defenses, steal, no silence my last breath, witness as death plows this whole effort under the ground, but until then, I shall think of the trojan horse and question what I let happen within my own domain as to maximize the health of my inner hearth, heart, sanctum and mind.

notes… and you thought there wasn’t a thrash version of the Beatles classic “Eleanor Rigby”, silly rabbit, thrash is for kids…

thoughts, from the porch…

thoughts, from the porch…

Photo by Alex Andrews on Pexels.com

the moon is in league

and so it descends, frozen invisible prison bars, a brisk cold, hints dropped like falling petals scattered earlier in these past weeks, the crisp bite of fall I called such, but now, full teeth bared gleaming white, the ring leader, the pied piper, reverse reflecting the sun’s light to dominate the sky of night, the stark dearth star, a cold dead desert hypnotizing our hemisphere into submission, sleep… a full moon, of course, conjured up’for hallow’s eve, just as the leaves have been stripped from many trees, that inescapable gaze blazes down on this landscape, no clouds, no shroud to hide in, no, open resistance, a brazen demonstration of barren isolation, Winter; that which slows life like a vice twisting in a thimble, at barely – a – pace, the feel has a beacon, a symbol, a scion, the brightest object in the sky as the world turns cold and colder, twist once more, snow, yes, snow, this morning there was snow, not the type to warm your heart on a christmas morning viewed from a cheery warm window sipping hot cocoa, no, dead falling, falling heavy wet white wolf pelts slapping on the windshield, letting you know the summer you once knew is quite gone, and certainly I did not outfit myself in the proper jacket to deal with this early assault, but no matter, I will not linger here, being stared at, examined, scrutinized, by that dead eye hanging in the sky, the cold isolation, the green of the world has peeled back in reflex, but I was watching, I swear I was watching this time, how did I miss this, the coming loud tide of the cold wave, my breath rises out up into space, drawn up by that nocturnal beaming thief, as I walk I feel the presence of being followed, stalked, tracked across the sky behind my shoulder, just over my shoulder, footstep by footstep by footstep, I notice my feet, the fallen, the fallen leaves are a patchwork quilt, in the day a beautiful sight, but night, now, wet and soaked, dank slippery wetness, the kind where you want to rush inside and peel off your drenched clothes, sit wrapped blanket by a fire, the brand of cold that turns skin blue, the body shrinks back into a shell, yes, the chills, run, run up the spine and through the teeth, chatter, I must devine that my ancestors were not of alpine stock, not if this is my evolved shock, even now, years worn down, years documented on my paycheck to this universe, still, some nights, the moon is a sinister beast, dead reveling in an earthly feast. (and so I retreat, cuddle up with my dog, and sleep)

a beach musing…

a beach musing…

I wonder how many others have wandered here, how many other feet, how many years, generations, for I surely have
I was here
I have taken things from this beach, and perhaps this beach has taken things from me, time at least,
such little impact yet I feel
I feel some sense of ownership, pride I guess, ego
the wind churns, and the tide turns
the waves crash, the gulls hang there, standing in mid air
and I all I want
is to belong.

daggers for eyes (who am I?)

daggers for eyes (who am I?)

Photo by Sabel Blanco on Pexels.com

“this is who I am!”, how we have screamed into the face of the great abyss that is society at large, with great thrusting daggers in eyes I have raised the same tsunami sentiment in my mind, all in a rage against the factories of same-a-tude that dominate the landscape of this life, a perception at least, I wonder how much of the flock feels less than a part of said flock but does not speak up, but then again there is plenty that have no qualms with the calms that obedience and coherence provides, they are wired that way, maybe not you or I, and some more yet perhaps, that the modus operandi is terra firma, boy, is that arcane? maybe to say, there are plenty that are happy cruising forever in the middle lane, I suppose that is a simpler analogy, but there I am, modifying my own thought, among my own words, my own damn post, for whom? clearly I am not a super digested blog of the norm, I am not a franchise on every corner, a juicy burger or tasty spicy chicken sandwich to order (I am a fan of Chick-Fil-A, I must say, waffle fries… ya feel me?), anywho, even the guy labeled “he’ll say anything” at work guy (me) is not really that guy, at least not all the time, is it fear? or reality? that rejection in social morality will occur, or consequence will fall like a wrecking ball right to my balls, am I half-assing my own existence? I always say and actually think that my “filter”, as it were, is on the shrink, but to what extent (gone)? just enough to hold the waters of the dam back… just enough, just enough an arms length from vanquish, if I had all the money in the world (I would settle for 10% mind you, donations accepted) would I be the same jovial strange soul searching? or would the social context of being free of the complex allow my eccentricities to fully bloom into the garden of babylon I was meant to be? or at least thought myself to be? and would I need such resource to be one hundred percent anyway? is there not a niche, or a cavern, or a crevice I could wedge myself in, sheltered from the storm of the norm, to scratch out my own weird unicorn existence while still in the standard wilderness of the all… I suppose that is the line, the struggle, the game, mental and otherwise, am I really being myself? all the time? …are you?

thoughts, from the porch… (calendars be damned)

thoughts, from the porch… (calendars be damned)

clouds cloudy country distance
Photo by Krivec Ales on Pexels.com

what day is this? Sunday you say? I suppose so, what’s the difference? some rogue could hold a gun to my head and I’d swear on Tuesday, I didn’t log my digital self into work today,  I think, so I guess that squares that vote down, but everything else? the same.
the weather is vacillating, the atmosphere seems quite undecided in mind, sun filled hope has given way to rumors of storm, or maybe the trees are just finding their voice more, more green drapes, buds graduated into kindergarten leaves, every moment struck past one further down the rail line took, spikes driven in, for miles back, through this latest mountain pass, you never know quite where the end of the line will be, and always the questions, the doubts, am I doing this… right? starting over not being an option, as the only direction now and ever is forward, the only place to ever start is this foot right here, now, this step, this one that leads to the next, I must remember that little epithet, like a tattoo perhaps, no, that is voluntary (usually), something more, something with no outer choice, a scar, yes, a scar, something that will pull that next step into a different space, maybe for better, maybe for worse, but forward nonetheless, for lest we let fear stop us in perfect statuesque, to be admired by others in perfect pose, then, left behind, museum, forgotten in some room, or left to creeping moss watching a tomb, I wish to have the fire to live like a lightning bolt, so I might, so I may, I can, but only to turn on that first corner, and turn my back on where I began, a real place no more, a memory, lore, the time now is the journey, forward.

notes… so this is a strange time, especially here in the metro NYC area, or the tri-state area as we call it, kind of hubris, I know, there is many tri-states out there, I could google the results but nah, I get it, we east coaster’s have a bias, I used to be that guy before I started exploring the states, let alone the world, the coasts are biased… but honestly, I can  not imagine living away from the ocean even I do not go there nearly enough, some things are a calling, what does this have to do with my post? well… nothing, just my thoughts, back to work, erm, again from home tomorrow, the days blend and are so long now… but yet, so not distinct, am I getting used to this? the supermarket runs twice a week, lining up with my mask (a n-95 type, how sheikh),  making meals for my elderly folks so they do not venture out, social life discarded aside from phones and such, sitting out on the porch my only out, and this, some words, patience will win out.

origins and perceptions… dreams and conscious thought…

origins and perceptions… dreams and conscious thought…

backlit blur close up dawn
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“origins
cruel perception
the trick of life
am I the culmination
of thought of dream
my parents decision
cosmic reconciliation
into being”

sometimes I have a strange view on life. is this all a dream? how would I know, how would I really perceive it, and conversely are dreams real, are they reality, we think of something so it does and did exist because of that thought, it did happen, at least somewhere, in some space, in our mind, but yet we may dismiss this as not reality, what is reality, what brought us forth, a thought? perhaps, it is all a circular firing squad from there, a never ending loop, are we in the act of creating merely by imagination, or is imagination the cauldron of truth, of life, all determined by perception, a house looks much different from the inside than from the out, a mountain looks different when staring at the base than when peering from the summit, and that is a matter of feet, not a cosmic mile like looking at earth from the moon or taking a ride on neptune’s 165 year orbit to look around the solar system from another view, these are the things swirling around my brain this day…

selfish shellfish selfless selfies…

selfish shellfish selfless selfies…

ancient armor black and white chivalry
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

the twin lives of selfishness and selflessness
truly a world divided, a yin and yang, chang and eng, the tried, true and classic black and white cookie, still the two could not be more distinct but should they be? or more symbiotic than you might think, poor ole selfishness seems languished in reputation while selflessness is bathed glowingly in the perpetual limelight of hero worship, however, as with a book and it’s cover it pays to look under the surface, the subterranean is always harder to explore, you need the guiding light of the mind and a dash of some adventurous spirit (and perhaps a good pair of boots and sturdy rope), so let me make a case in the defense of selfishness, at some point you must have a drop of this, or a dollop of it added to your bloodstream, think of this infusion as a valid component of the prescription for self preservation, you are being carried away by raging waters, you must find a tree limb or other outcrop to hold onto, and from there, perhaps, you can furnish the rescue of others, but blind loyalty to selflessness may lead to needless death, for yourself, and those you might mean to save, all an equation, but one that must be mastered by the mind as instinct in a framework in which to act when called upon or needed, I have unfortunately read many an account where someone has jumped into a certain situation only to perish themselves, so, at least in this instance selfish was a bridge to selfless, complete and utter selflessness would have lead to further tragedy and served no one well, brief #2, a selfishness on the stand, if you do not take the time to keep your house in order how can you honor others? cross examine that for a spell, for the young knight who charges off into the battle in full shining armor, with gleaming honor, perfect edge to a shining blinding sword, and all the best intent ringing in his spurs, or consider the aged knight, war weary, battled in spirit, no less noble, perhaps a bit more selfish in the past as it has gotten him this far, and the poor young night now has the distinct experience with his head upon a spike, glorious helmet quite upright, chivalry may die quickly upon the shields of the young, and then perhaps there is the knight that only knows the love of gold, for he will truly die fat, happy, and quite alone, because in the realm of coin there are no citizens, only denizens of no self, a desert land of the self less, there seems to be some merit resident in selfishness to consider, when used as a tool to build and not a house to hold.

music to ponder the universe to: (ambient space goodness)

Carbon Based Lifeforms – ‘And Contact’ (from the album The Path)

Thoughts… from the porch… (bomb cyclone edition)

Thoughts… from the porch… (bomb cyclone edition)

water drops
Photo by Ali Hassan on Pexels.com

the rain has gone but the song of the storm still plays a heavy dirge upon theses lands (as I observe), there is always these storms this time of year, where the sky is utterly gray and unforgiving, not pockets of lightning, not roving cloud wombs birthing thunder, rains that once quenched the glorious hot pavement of summer, so distant now but from just weeks ago, all the demons and reasons creeping back in, in this season, the summer light kept them hidden, locked in their quarters, but now as the trees are being undressed, their hiding places no longer needed, they are coming out, to stalk the night as it grows longer and longer, chewing, gnawing at the edges of the day morsel by mouthful, a crescendo descends upon the devil’s night, as candy and subtle mayhem ignite imaginations, shadows and flickering candles dancing in jack smiles, the world is retelling the ancient story, one it knows well, sending emissaries and portents to further the tale, and should we pay mind, or pay strict attention, details and devils may rise, all in the slight of hand concealed by an autumn storm as it rages in from the ocean on familiar northeastern tract, we bustle about under all this happening almost unaware, this transforming, but yet it dictates our path, changes trajectories whether we perceive them or not, from one leaf down to the whole lot, soon, soon a blanket will come, not of comfort but stillness cold, as the world prepares and truth be told, not mere whispers but whipping winds, change is coming and has already been.

music... Badlands – Winter’s Call

notes…  thanks to all who read my words, all thoughts, comments, recipes, music recommendations and everything else is appreciated, I write this blog for me but if it helps anyone else? I’m cool with that, thanks.