“sky draft“ the sky is a story, right now a beginning, and an end the script reads left to right I can not say what language this is but the design, I recognize over there is the fight scene or the love scene hard to tell, at times, a dark cloud brooding about halfway through skip ahead a bulb laid on blue some pages appear blank perhaps a spot for improvisation weather or not the story holds or is being written with an unseen pen changing, shifting but always a beginning, always an end.
notes… we all look up (every version of humanity has), I wonder for many reasons, the fact that our sky is actually so thin and is all that separates us from what ancients used to call heaven, a little layer of air is all the separates us from space, and suffocation, and all that happens in that little layer is amazing, a whole system of intertwined water vapor, truly a wonder as it swirls asunder and not so much under, swirling clouds of water vapor, patterns in the sky, braille for the gods I suppose or just those that can fly above…
music… let me introduce you to another genre…electronic, more upbeat than ambient but still… chill… enjoy…
“if once more I would hold your hand in, with both of mine, cradled. as, the most precious, the most delicate of all that was ever created, was gifted, was mine to have, if only, once more, to feel the presence of your warmth thaw these cradled lands my hands would illuminate in that moment be overrun overwhelmed damns burst river flow forth with love, of joy, filling up my heart saturating my bones if only, for once more – my love.”
notes… the letters are in runes, all of their various meanings, I leave to you… (musical choice for the eve)
(written originally 6.12.2019, quite forgotten about in one of my journals, rewrote a few times since today, mostly just word positions and such, and by the way, thanks for the look and your time, I appreciate anything outside of mine, thanks)
be a cliche, today was that summer day, hot, sun bearing down, blacktop hot enough to burn bare feet, I think my plants have adjusted too well to this year’s heavy rains, they have become accustomed to what seemed always available @ immediate now, so we share that weakness of assumption in the snapshot, so, just a mere two days without storm and they all look thirsty, sagging in the swelter, not wishing to see them suffer further, and quite proud of my shiny green thumb, I unreel the hose, and let loose the valve, left squeak, left full turn – squeak, left full circle – stop, I hear the flow rush of the water filling up the coils, I reach down to grab the the iron spray-head, forgetting it was sitting in the blistering sun all day, and damn it’s blazing hot, I juggle and fumble just to squeeze the thing to get the cold water going, I spray my hands immediately, sweet relief, I shower my bamboo, my pride and joy plant wise, my personal banzai, really, each year as it grows into a bigger ball, some of the water hits the driveway, and turns to steam immediately, and there is that smell, not of water, of the chemicals and minerals in the water, escaping as gases in the steam, definitely metallic in nature, one of those smells that remains utterly distinct in life, lake water, charcoal on a fired up grill, the first cut into a ripe pineapple, technology does not seem to touch these things, they were the same and are the same for a hundred years, to generations of summer culture. So, this is a holiday, seems like another day to me, admittedly I expected much more noise outside than this, it is rather quite calm, maybe the heavy weight of the sun has beaten the starch out of life a little today, and the world is in resting phase, but I am sure, on the night, will come the fireworks, to light the sky, mark the occasion, scare my dog, overtures and songs, a holiday throng when fireworks are certainly foreign born. For me, nothing is different tonight, just sitting here contemplating life, fate, the past, the future, what it all means as if I have the means to solve this puzzle in the first place, as the sun sits between the V of two branches, I understand how holidays can isolate, make you feel lonely, all the joyous sounding around, and you are not part of it, of course some of that is by choice, yes I must confess I am not the social butterfly I once never was, has this past year been better, yes, by slow standards, although change happens all around us all the time, inner, personal change does not seem up to speed, the relics of the past, deeds, memories, they are bindings much stronger in comfort than landing first foot in the new world, landing, with wonder, and fear, will that new land be as “good” as the old I left (or should have fled), the fear, even if home was built on the cold stone face of misery, misery loves comfort, for even the walls of a prison can become familiar horizons, to the point where beyond those walls no longer matters, this is why I struggle to construct pillars of reminder, the truth is rather easy and consistent in most things, we know what is right, what must or should be done, in our deepest well lurks the truth, what we know, that our days are quite literally numbered, there is a countdown as to which we are bound but not allowed to witness, but we know of it’s existence, do we all live in the moment, as if this may be our last minute? do I? maybe this is my reminder, my map, my guide, taking the time to let the “important” world slide away and just consider thoughts in writing, and maybe the rest will arrive, in it’s own time, trust not in despair, you know what is there, trust in the fact, that you are alive, you have a choice, choose the nuptials of love and hope, whenever you can, fail, more than succeed, likely, but it is apparent, that for most of us, this was never meant to be easy…
oh yeah, this is part of my ongoing porch project thing… just me, sitting out there, playing guitar more lately but also with my little notebook scribbling all this, I wonder what my neighbors think….
“a profession of love initials coupled on a rock an ad hoc memorial to love so temporal or with hope anniversaries immemorial”
written on my daily drive up the NJ Turnpike, passing Snake Hill (as it is locally known), graffiti is sometimes… sometimes… a bit more. as you pass over snake hill on the left the entire NYC skyline is on your right… clear as a bell…
kind of anthems for me from back in the day… they were a rebel rock band when hair bands were dominating the scene, well, they had hair, but not that hair…
and I would be remiss, if I did not say thanks for all the reads, eyeballs and all the such… now, my american friends, do not go blowing off your fingers tomorrow, hard to do here in jersey, the only thing legal fireworks wise is basically sparklers… yech… I could tell you stories about m-80s and m-90s and pool filters… but nah, not today… did I mention I write off the cuff pretty much all the time ? yeah… pretty much…
“my hope resides in the chalice of the unborn silent the heart that has no song for the word love has not long passed this tongue I count in years as numbers less drawn, might I gather dew from that morning leaf and renew my spring from the gift of dawn, yes, the sun rises but no chariot awaits me there I dwell here low in hours drawn late, I wonder, how did I get here? where can I go? but this light of hope grows dim, and slow dim, and, slow dissipates.”
notes… I would love to tell you I am a bulwark against pessimism, and generally I usually am, but I have my moments of weakness, I am human, I embrace them, I see my shortcomings, so is it OK to despair? I think it is for a time, what are the mountains without the valleys ? the point is to see the valley, when you are in it, and gather to climb the mountain again, you never win, you always fall down, just keep up the trail, is it logical, no, but either that or just lay down and let the world run over you, you have a choice, a loss, a setback, they happen, dust yourself off and give fate the stink eye… walk the path, I am trying, and failing mostly, butI will get up and push that rock back up the hill, even with a bunion…
maybe this is my beach, my refuge, after a long day of grinding, phones ringing beating on my drums, the same old problems at work wrapped up all new and presented, with even a different card and perfume, fading, the low discernible rumble of local traffic humming on the main road beyond sight and a treeline, much like the murmured roar of surf past the markers, strolling barefoot through the soft evening dew of the longer grass, like wading my toes in the small surf of flattened waves receding, splashing with my feet by standing and swinging my legs, as if on a hinge, swinging through the soft wet blades, if kicking up sand, deliberately, the birds, not the same calls, not the same flock, nor the same stock, but birds, none-the-less, sunset etching dunes upon the cloud lines, glowing, reflecting back on the passing day, fireflies like night time embers rising spiral from a log’s crossed flame, the hint of humidity on the tongue, in deep breaths from the nose, moisture hanging in the air, right now, right here, not beholden to any train or bus schedule, or alarm clock, or care, yes, I imagine this is my shore, as it were, a substitute perhaps, perhaps more, perhaps more.
“I council with the earth read knowledge upon the leaves reach down and grasp the dirt to further my beliefs learn patience from the sky imagination from the clouds the flowers teach me of beauty of which we are all endowed.”
notes… this is a part and parcel (I love that term) of my porch project, get with it, I write these things off the cuff from my porch, maybe I should live stream the creation… one of these days I suppose
music ? linked earlier… 1993, yeah, that year, so this is what I was listening to at the time.. among other things mostly metal, but this was transcendent from a band that was legend… that’s all, enjoy… as usual all thoughts and whatnot are appreciated…
the sounds of a summer night offer a certain melody maybe mistaken for cacophony, school is out, a holiday looms in a few, the sun has warmed the all and now it is beginning to cool, my neighbors to my left are having a pool party, loudly, but not obnoxiously, I used to want a pool myself, too much trouble now, to few days to use it properly in this climate zone, I would much rather prefer a jacuzzi to soak away the troubles of the day, the daily aches and pains of age, besides, I have no children, just a dog, and she seems fine with a water hose and the occasional ride to the beach, have you heard squirrel-speak? kind of a high pitch squeal, something you might imagine a little pig in the trees to make but more shrill, at first you surely would not think of a squirrel, but mostly the younger ones make this sound, the breeze is on double time tonight, lulling me as it creates a tangible rustle as it touches down through the branches and leaves, rising and falling in intensity, not quite as timely as a tide but much the same calling, much the same effect, at times it climbs higher in pitch and fierce force – for just a moment, ready, as if to crash down upon me like a giant wave, and then it relents returning back again to subtle flow, my neighbors are of vietnamese descent, well, they happen to be very american, but many of their relatives speak the native tongue, completely foreign to me only in the fact that I can recognize it is foreign, obviously, but some how… familiar, I mean it is a pool party after all, not a debate about world politics, more or less the same things that go on under the sun, by the grill, silly floating animals, splashing, dont do thats doing thats, the whole family component of people you only see on such occasions, the mourning doves are cooing, a very persistent dog is barking in the close distance, may be a street away, might as well be 100 miles, I look out into all the plants I have planted, great and small, how they come back every year, until they don’t, and how permanent it all seems, in this moment, but of course the only thing that is permanent is change, so I gladly admire my little space in suburbia, and continue to paint it with these words as it was, because was is all that ever is, was, I was sitting here tonight, listening, that dog is still barking, the party is settling out, an airliner rumbles out of view somewhere in the sky, the world is getting quieter, softer, as the day wears thin, so to does my mind, trying to ingest this as nourishment to fuel my being, this feeling, this now, this was.
“every breath erodes from within every exhale mere life spent like sand grinding finely against the sphinx’s claws taming out the fierce over time rounding down the paws, enticing yet another sleep under blankets of coming sand inducing that slumber until I succumb waiting, to be discovered again”
notes… wrote this way back in July of last year, revisited tonight, I liked it then, like it more now… maybe I should not be such a stubborn ass and revisit work, but I am who I am, so this one is a rewrite, I like it like I like all my new work, even though this is old work, I am sure the shine will wear off, it always does, something like a curse…
music, the link above is Carbon Based Lifeforms, ambient space type music, I love it, I must confess, so that is all.. have a nice sunday, I think I will be out in the wilderness tomorrow, in the wilds of new jersey, yes they exist, maybe just off a roadway but damn we have some lovely parks, I am sure of it….
“even without the palpable perception the noose is present, this will be the end of all of this, a silence in the wind, set to hang set to swing in judgment, for we are all given a certain length and to what lengths do we go for more – rope.”
notes: instead of being morbid, or moribund, let me share a story of life, I was sitting on my porch the other night, whipped out the old acoustic guitar, boy am I out of practice, and lack of callous, but I suppose I have been playing for 20 years now or so… so I can dazzle with some riffs but I know I am not up to par compared to those who bang on the drums all day, anyway, so I was just riffing around on some blues (easy stuff) and some other riffs I know (mostly old metallica), I’m behind my japanese maple, kind of hidden, one of the neighborhood deer sauntered up, slowly, I tried to be still, but would hit a chord now and again as the deer grazed, the deer was not afraid… mostly confused… I would strum a chord or play a note and the the poor deer just looked, tilted it’s head as if to say.. what the hell is that? I can imagine this suburban deer has heard many things, cars, garbage cans, barking dogs, but the strum on an acoustic guitar from 4 feet away ? doubtful… and clean notes of picking sunday bloody sunday ? nah… after a what seemed like a long time (a few minutes) the deer casually disappeared across the street into my neighbor’s yard which has tons of trees… I don’t know what my expectations are from such encounters… well, actually I do, I hope to convey to the animal that I am no threat, it’s stupid honestly, but honest, a wild animal is not going to understand me… but I put the vibe out there anyway…
music… something a little nerdy musically tonight (a lesson in genre perhaps?), sometimes called “math rock“, that’s not fair, but neither is life, so, basically to me math rock describes music that is not quite “progressive” but yet is definitely not mainstream, virtuoso level playing that is mind bending as a player but if you just listen… there is a space between classical and rock and jazz… I think this is it…
…this poem originally written 4.30, looked over and revised tonight… added punctuation and some words… I always promise to tell you all when I write stuff… why? honesty, does it matter? nah…. but yes… to me….
“I wear a carved jade stone
I can not feel the hands
of the mark of the creator
just what has been left behind
from that act of creation
this does not mean
this piece
was not meant
for me.“
notes… this is personal haiku for me, not the form but the feel and function of what I understand haiku to be, the staccato nature, a question and a truth, is that not haiku? and I literally wear my toki or my manaia daily… I connect to the sea faring way of the maori tradition, not by religion but by spirit if that makes sense… it does to me, at least.
Shades of My Garden 