All this fuzziness astounds me ; warmed up from the soul and told (under no uncertain terms) we’re destined to die the martyr in due course. But not now—perhaps. At least until the sun goes down and the ants cease their ant-nibbles and the cricket boys back go to bed.
One: I am grateful for the sand between my toes, that finds me in the coziest of places, that works away and makes me softer. That reminds me I live near the ocean. Two: I am grateful for the lithe sleek bicycle I pedal down University avenue until I can’t pump hard enough and must let gravity take me. Three: I am grateful … Read More 5-Step Process to Get What You Want Out of Life
If the hair on your head heightens and heightens, enlarging like the alarmed housecat frazzled by herself– and if the clouds that swim between the curling ferns of our sister, Mountain, swimming like ancient phantom-mermaids, reach toward us– and if the lizards, brown and green, with knowing grins and lithe bodies, dart and scale the box air conditioner that bulges from outside the … Read More Non-Complexity
What I yearn for—like you—is a just a notch of catastrophe. Rising up from the soul like pewter rainbows, swimming golden lead, funny and relevant all at the same time—catastrophe. Secret substance of hope, infectious balance; if nothing’s broken it’s all boring. Boredom is safe, too secure. Too responsible. So predictable. Left handle of balance, tipped so easily in this modern day of … Read More Credo
She took her bow low and sweeping, languidly squalid, barely breathing penned up in honey and exhaust she caught their fumes with her soiled mattress. Trade winds swept up the dust that lingered in street corners; I biked past seeing the drafts crown her brow.
this act is an act of listening, not of saying. Articulation in the sense that I am a headless disjointed creature; shifting around and moving an elbow here and there hearing it shiver and re-joint. Observe creation flows hot and salty like sea-lava. I can hear my soul; and it’s not boring and it’s not short. My hair grows longer in these moments. … Read More Fluid
Salty tears; salty sweat. So much life flows around me more than I could gift to the holy forest floor– “I am here,” I whisper and stack stone on stone. They reply: it’s not us you try to convince. Below me dangles mossy river, tangling rising reeds and stone clothed stone I could slip but grooves are cut in these stones in shapes … Read More Cairn
No complaint just art. Languidly as day might linger, the tavern muse with slight delay; touched awake by unstaid starlight, the egg-dropped banks of buildings balloon from village scene. Bakers lean out burgundy house blinds waving cast iron shapes and wheels of cheese. All who go will wander; branches on streams lazy-catch the algae reeds. It will be okay– It has always been … Read More No Complaint, Just Art
Vonnegut got it right, like really right, like Bokonon himself I, too am enchanted by the mystery of coming ashore naked on an unfamiliar island. Enticed to life by these sandy toes, sand that’s slid down my salty knees, peppering abundance of purple tulips knowing nothing, I see we are endless– Resolved to see just how far man might go.