Raven Loses his Feather

September 10, 2018 § Leave a comment

Going with or against? Flow, grain, norm. A little friction builds heat. Fiery uncomfortability has burned and left ashes because of the retrograde momentum. I wouldn’t change direction now—even if I wanted to. It’s who I have become over the decades. The ashes blow away in time. Fires burn out. Chaparral growth from under charred branches.

From this thought you might see the phoenix fires lifting upward to their celestial hope. Flying by overhead I also see a raven. It’s beautiful black wings graciously waving as a feather falls butterfly-like 400 feet ahead of me. I run to catch it, miss it, and pick it up from the grass. Deep green juxtaposed against deeper black.

I push against the nape as I hold it in my hand. The feather loses its smooth silkiness: strands of black out of place, sticking out in unnatural awkward angles, disheveled, out of place, yet not.

All it takes is a soft swipe of my gentle touch and the feather’s black beauty is set back to the natural grain of things. Back to its normal place. The flow of its life living the way of things.

Putting things together it seems that an unnaturally awkward against is natural. Nature’s patterns have anomalies. More than a simplistic Darwinesque gesture.

At least that’s what I often tell myself. All is as it should be. Nothing less. Nothing more.

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Cyclical Anniversary or A Möbius Strip Life

July 30, 2018 § Leave a comment

present

 

I keep myself from nostalgia. The present taking it’s place most days. Automatic for at least a decade, now.  I go back ten years of this blog and I read how much the past still comes in, just as automatically as the present.

What I do now and then fuel each other. Most of the time I remember mysteriously when I need it most to stay present. The ironic pull to push to keep in place. Like the indigenous cyclical or homeomorphic European band. Moving, moving, going and coming, stopping  simultaneously. Maybe it’s a time-space visual experiment? Vonnegut’s space men would confusingly ask, “Why do you focus on one spot on the timeline? Time is one continuous phenomenon, earthling.”

The feel good and uncomfortable are just that. Nothing else. It’s ignorant to pick and choose the embarrassing over the favorable, the painful instead of the joyous bliss. It’s all one continuous phenomenon. “You humans are an interesting species,” the aliens would also say, “Choose your past wisely.”

So if I do this again: if I read through of few of my posts after a stop in my  personal timeline, may I remember this as a time to keep me in the future’s present. I don’t want to be an ignorant earthling.

Dust

July 10, 2018 § Leave a comment

All in a gesture that focuses a time a long time ago: particular matte desk, the wheelchair, a glitterati spoke spinning in perfect light. Then the black Fender bass hunched against the turquoise painted cardboard wall like in a soundproof Liverpool studio. A run down the wooden neck, the slide of sweat from brow to flick to cadenced silence, a mythical trail of feedback far far in the background.

Another time. Distant conversation like today. Alone. One sided. Physically there not here. All very much the same. The gesture somehow lodged free the realization of it being over. “I can play that,” I say, and we keep listening to the tape deck till it’s dark outside the tiny window. The antique Victrola still looking at us bedside, quilted brown with flecks of color bedspread half falling to the floor, when we leave the room.

Legs walk passed the little window. Black lightlessness to jumpy headlights as cars loosen and crack free the rocks from the dirt road underneath as they pass. Without the light bulb it’s hard to see the dust on everything. The smell of dryness is all the evidence till next morning. Each deep breath through nostrils leaves an invisible residue on my throat. I cough, but the dust stays put just like the gesture in my memories.

Dust

For Millenia

June 11, 2018 § Leave a comment

Is a funk like the blues? Are they like they were in the 30s as Merle said? The depression.

Historically it makes sense now. So does the feeling. Hadn’t before. Might be these meds, the toll.

For whom does it sound? How much does a half century cost? Happy birthday.

I’m already older than most of my idols ever were. Older than my mother when she died. Seising the flame is better than fading some may’ve said. I disagree.

Even not ever being down like this before—for this long anyway—is the way it should. These primordial weights of the world that the 27 Club didn’t have enough time to share, like modal scales, is as it has been for millennia.

So I’ll blame the side effects for they are not as bad as blindness, cardiac arrest, erectile disfunction, or shortness of breath as TV’s fear routinely broadcasts.

I am not afraid of living. She can kiss me sour ‘cause I love her when she’s sweet. And “Picking sides is plain just not fair, Mama,” I say to her.

She just smiles. Does not say anything. Looking right at me she says all she needs to, and I nod back at her, understanding that I understand very little and almost silently I say, “Thank you.”

I know she heard me. She hears everything.

Dueling

June 1, 2018 § Leave a comment

I’ve notice that most have trouble with introverts. If there isn’t constant noise, comment, or movement many are uncomfortable.

Especially extroverts. They think something is wrong if there is quiet or silence. I understand. There is nothing wrong, though. Keep talking. We just don’t feel like saying anything. Or to be more specific: we only say something when something needs to be said. We actually enjoy quiet.

Some of us even see the beauty of silence. We let the surroundings lead what will happen. We do not need to control or guide. Some of us know that if we step away things happen without us and that many times the situation is much more enjoyable and spontaneous when we let things go the way of the universe.

And again, keep talking. The world needs you the way you are. We understand that you need chatter, to lead a conversation to where you think it should go. You are you, just as we are we. The world needs us both.

It takes different types of people to take this 21st Century to where it needs to, so keep being you and we will keep being us and hopefully all will be as it will be because of our duel existence? Don’t be uncomfortable. All will turn out the way it should. Like it or not.

Cracks

May 22, 2018 § Leave a comment

Visiting my oracle, my little book. Reminding myself of what I already know. Getting out of my own way so I can sleep again.

Back to the beginning of things. The way they’ve always been. Dormant for a few years is all. The earth cracking for the sleeping giant.

It’s not much different: by degrees, millimeters, maybe less. Things are already as they should be. Acceptance and patience.

The patterns to be broken take time. Realizing they are there sets the motion toward the caffeinated sutra.

“Things are not as they seem, nor are they otherwise” swims on the daily wave to years of birthdays and anniversaries.

It’s the same now. Let the melody lead to where it takes you. Rising and falling the beautiful harmony has dissonance and sweetness.

If Heaven Exists

March 4, 2018 § Leave a comment

Sat down at the bar. The only empty stool was at the far end next to the servers’ station. The management had iconized the word “focus” onto the screen saver so if I turned my head and looked down the exposed brickwork I could follow the slowly bouncing subtle push of the once-called suits (now more likely bearded and tattooed thirty-somethings). The way the word caromed off the sides of the 15 inch screen reminded me of the classic black and white Pong.

Hanging from the low ceiling a few feet from my head a long row of tulip glasses lined toward the the crowded street out front where I’d walked in about an hour ago. The bar was almost empty now (the Happy Hour rush gone). As soon as I noticed the upside down tulips I saw my mother. We were talking about something she was excited about. Not remembering what the excitement was about makes me nostalgic in the sense that I see my little kid self and my mother still alive. How would the present be different if she had seen me live older than she did? I want to know why she had forgotten my age while we were talking and she realized I wasn’t old enough to be at a bar and said, You know how the glasses hang upside down at the bar right by your head? I didn’t. I do now, though. My mother’s story ended there.

Maybe she was about to make a joke. Probably not. I don’t remember her ever making me laugh. I was a taciturn kid. My brother’s the jokester. Even now with multiple visits to the dialysis center the nurses can’t believe how everything is a joke with him. Amputations, cancer, diabetes. Life is meant be enjoyed no matter what, he’d say.

Doesn’t really matter what my mother was thinking all those years ago. I remember it now. Don’t even remember what she was wearing or where we were. I don’t know how old I was or if I had had a good or bad day. She was excited is all that matters as I wait for my “small plate” to come to the counter. The imprinted feeling of I hope you are okay if heaven exists. If it doesn’t I hope you felt how much I loved you even though we didn’t talk much after a certain age. After melody and harmony, sex, & victimized assumption crept in and took over. I know that a few more years would have lifted us to a blissful place, but I know now (as I feel you did ‘Ama) that we don’t decide these things. That thinking that we have control of our lives is a lie. We make choices, yes. Other’s are made for us and we have no say. And that’s okay. I don’t need goals or set levels of societal norms to feel alive, be happy, enjoy this improvised flow we call living.

Just like sitting here now: wasn’t planned. Had an appointment so I came early to fight traffic a bit. Once here my phone told me the appointment was next Thursday the 8th not today the 1st. A few years ago I would have walked up ready and someone would have apologetically said something like, Sorry Sir you are expected a week from now, and then I’d of walked off embarrassed probably. I had no control over why I got my dates confused. I could have checked my phone before leaving instead of leaving early. That didn’t happen. This did. I’m here now.

And everything turned out okay, didn’t it?