December 5, 2017 § Leave a comment
Everything follows me. Sit down and the landscaper’s blower buzzes as rake-against-concrete scratches add a nails-on-chalkboard backtrack.
At another bench the loudspeaker from a high school across the street echoes a band director’s directions to brass, then to percussion: “Take it from G to I—cut, cut, cut! Come on lift your heads. You wanna be heard, don’t you?”
Paranoid? When all sound and movement attracts my attention, maybe. Gestures and mannerisms. Lane changes without a signal or amateur semaphore attract the orange reflecting same. Focused. A discriminate eye sees madness’s divinity Dickinson says. I see it.
Being is a magnet. Sound. People’s intimately subtle movements. Silence. How the clouds hide the sun and my skin feels the cold instantaneous like an ant crawling quickly across my slippery hand towards a much rougher finger tip. Looks like time lapse footage. Everything follows.
Feeling alive. One with it all collides with the routine everyday. The smell of ashes from old cigarettes turns to a passionate conversation before white sheets and sex.
Nothing ordinary, only the miracle of existence, the fascination with being alive oozing onto the wooden counter, shouting in silence for no one and all. Hear the ticking of the end. The countdown to being. The slowing to the next. Listen to Miles’ trumpet muffled from the other side, wading.
It still follows me, lowering into a minor sixth as night cools to 43 degrees, the water 6/8 warmer as fish jump out, lifting tiny white water splashes back to 3/4 double time.
August 14, 2017 § Leave a comment
as the orthodoxy spews and preaches its decades old knowledge I go back to the instinctual. the infamous "they" ask me to put on a tie and coat I amble unshaven in shorts to where I want to go, huaraches slapping on concrete.
I just look and stare, take the pills they prescribe: "you'll feel better." nights of pain and thoughts of suicide scare me awake. on my back adjusting to darkness and slivered light and moon shadows, then deep appreciation of what I have lived. sitting up, legs dangling into black I hear Rosie breathing, Tristan gaming, Aidan studying a film. I see Jonas reading trends as they spike and drop in his office, the glare off the laptop onto his face reflecting on his glasses in reds and green blips.
before long I think back to childhood, music, words, movies. back to unorthodoxy. herbs and shaman cure scenes, charms and salves, teas from British bands and coffee wraps tight on my feet as a shivering fever kept me awake like now. My mother always there, sitting in the dark. I always got better. placebo or not, I always got better. I will get better again. It is in my story, my tri-cultural build, my homegrown optimism, my being. it's who I tell myself I am. & until this fragile shell returns to it's mysterious beginnings I will keep it up and not give in.
April 30, 2017 § Leave a comment
The joys of Sunday are like Wednesday for some. Monday for others. The joy of Sunday.
Every other day’s the same. Sun up moon down. Arguments and loving words none. Or some days words again: one and arguments are none. The joys of Sunday.
Is it the coolness of the evening or the sweating Tuesdays as the dew builds between your legs? The joy of Sunday’s all the same to Thursday or Saturday. The joys of Sunday stays the same.
Tamarind, strawberries or coconut milk sweet. Plastic wrappers and the thin thin wood stick. The joys of Sunday.
February 2, 2017 § Leave a comment
woke up with crumbs. from Felicitas, the holidays, yesterday’s bbq, Rosie. scattered everywhere between Star Wars sheets, the pieces hard rock, tiny granulated feelings. how long between cotton, silk, heavy and feathery warmth and sweat. how long?
handcuffed by a dream to let go. afraid of everything and nothing. posturing for help. left ambiguous, alone in the sand. granulated rock again. crumbs scattered by time, wind, pain and guilt hidden by small talk and the same stories told over and over, blanketing nostalgia
suffocating any true feelings. so long ago.
&, still, all that’s left are crumbs. translation lost in the murmurings. the tiny murusas speaking in tongues back to Tayoltita, Tijuana, black and white memories walking in stripes, her hand ’round my back, her secret signal whistling as we look straight ahead, a seer and apprentice through tiny modulated pieces.
November 27, 2016 § Leave a comment
Giants fight, swinging at clouds.
Molecular holes pierce through blue
body punches and upper cuts at once.
What sounds will wince as cars and buses,
under the weight of falling body.
Underground words by rail or chant
cross country to protectors and
protesters, Shaman and trickster.
Wizarding worlds of fictitious futures
stuck in their past, unable to remain in
the present for more than a soundbite.
This is the what is of now we see,
the way of social solitude and global
individualism, as we all share alone.
October 8, 2016 § Leave a comment
Can’t sleep sometimes. Maelstrom thoughts. Breathe. Darkness to a tiny glob of light sliding down my chest. From my toes up to my legs, back up. Left shoulder, right. Still can’t sleep. 3 or 6 more times.
20 minutes later I get up and walk outside. A beautiful early morning darkness. Stars lined-up, pointing to eternity. Constellation to constellation. Ancient Greek heroines and magical beasts pose and charge. Their breath touches me. The coolness tickles my skin.
Breathe. Walk under the ficus, listen to the music of quietest day when most are still asleep. Maybe not. Maybe they can’t sleep, either. The lock has opened. Another deep breath: deeper.
Go back inside. Something woke you, brought you back from restlessness. Back to now. Back to being. Back to living life.
September 19, 2016 § Leave a comment
93 degrees. Beenie and plugs server. Nice guy. After a few words made me feel grateful to have been given the privilege of living in the 21st Century where pretentiousness and disingenuousness are more and more scorned by more and more people. His boss should give him a raise. Not just for better than average customer service, but for treating people as people should.
The gap between age and status feels like it is shrinking at this particular moment. The Internet’s pulling globalization, forcing reality to speak to those not ready to listen in 1999. There are no coincidences.
More and more the signs of a changed world appear in my everyday.