Salton Sea

I get all very Doomsday Device sometimes.  It is quite unpleasant.  And I recant all of my positive vibes, replacing them with negative ones.  I get hopeless and helpless.  Sometimes, I feel despair.  It's all to do with the state of things.  Our human affairs.  We collect and grow so many problems on this planet Earth.  We forget that this place is supposed to be a garden for food, water and beauty.  It is supposed to be a place to grow healthy in.  But, in our most human mind, we lost it.  Somewhere along the way, we lost our ability to see the ground we walk on or the stars above us.  We harvest bad feelings when we forget to let the good in.  We walk around on borrowed time.  Cancer twists around some things we don't see.  I want to be free of it sometimes.  The pressure is building along the San Andreas Fault.  Some kind of spring board release.  I don't want to see it when it snaps.  But there are positive forces building also.  Going low to the Badwater Basin while climbing to the peak of Mount Everest.  The world will change whether we decide to care for it or not.  It will take us where it wants us.  Our care should come for the quality of the Earth we stand upon.  Our care should come for the generations on the way.  We have some leaders reflecting this thought.  I want, I want.  I wish, I wish.  But these things are not easy to acquire in material form.  Lust for power.  Words fall on the weak.  What are we going to DO?  What should our activities be?  How do we baby step ourselves into responsibility?  Simple, powerful and pure.  These things are our connection to each other.  We are not as separate as we seem.  Awake and describe the very world you see.  Get beyond the neutron bomb.  If we peel back these layers of time, we are left with the flint and the fire.  We are left with the cave dwellings.  Religion, the scribbles on parchment to the very ritual.  The theater of the natural and dream world.  Of the want.  The higher desires.  To the wish.  Let the transcendent be activity.  There is the ritual stage.  The practice theatrum, theatron.  The dream stage performs and changes the ideas each time.  A dance with slight changes of movement.  Practice space for the creation of worldly change.  I am an onlooker to this play.  And I still follow patterns of the stars.  One great cosmic drama unfolding in the riot of the human mind.  Still crawl as if on the Death Valley floor.  Writhe past, as if it's 1913, Furnace Creek.  Understand the soil, terra firma, firmament the memory of water and long lost garden remains.

the feral cat at parties

That is so me.  I'm the one standing alone.  I'm the one leaving early.  Of course, I'd rather spend time with the outdoors.  I want to find the fleeting forests.  Just for an instant we were here.  I am the philosopher who doesn't need to be at the party anyway.  It's incongruent of me to pretend.  I remember when we walked along the broad sidewalks to town to seek the company of the wild young ones.  I knew then that my philosopher shouldn't be there.  She didn't like the parties.  She was always writing that down.  Aqua vitae.  To drink is to fall.  To excess.  There is only one way.  That way is forward.  Auribus teneo lupum.  There is a danger in following your heart.  There is a vulnerability that can't be denied. 

Pitch Glittering

His avarice is like an anemic vampire.  This is his domain of greed and anxiety.  No one wants to live there any more.  I am pinioned through reason to dismiss his want of money and power.  He opines daily about his obsession with control.  Would I be banned from saying so?  I've lived a protean life teeming with possibility.  I am a simple Bedouin following my lodestar.  The night dwells eternal.  The moon glow pear is my possibility.  How many times did I dream of it, out of my reach?  I love to feel real.  Like noshing on pesto and cheese.  Life and it's plethora of possibilities.  You may not wake for tomorrow.  Printemps is too far off to tell.  Do we live or die or are we reborn?  Exchange your death for a life anew.  We parlay existence like butterflies all over this universe.  With so much starlight in our cosmos, why don't we look up?  We change but we can not use it.  It is a sad state.  Screaming butterflies.  There is something rare and fragile and fleeting about this world that makes us ignore the bigger ideas.  We are willing to accept our seconds as counted and return to the stars unaware.

the Shielding

Moments move forward.  Time elapse and collapse.  A stranger upon a dusty road.  He is the same, yet he is changed.  Forever he is remembered as the one who died.  Rise up.  Take your shields.  The corpses and carrion are a riot here.  Sail the sea to live, then die.  This one did rise up and several found him there.  Lifeless beaches glisten like glass.   We sailed on for a tomorrow.  Fields of heather wave under the wanderer's touch.  You'll find them in the shieling.  Behind the field, a barrow mound.  Wild things grow there.  Faery paths march around and down.  From desert to beach to mountain, we have met him.  Moving silently through tombs and walls, we didn't recognize him.  From one to another, an attraction shielding between physical and supernatural.  He stood there tall and brown like the earth.  Bring them in from the burnt edges of soil gone to sand.  Bring them in for food and water.  Blood and wine.  Bring them all in to dine.  Bread and bone.  Shelter them.  They are strangers no more.

empires of alaska

Dirae Di over a frozen tundra.  The clock ticks closer to colder skies.  Build the fire high.  Some white covered mountains and long crystalline fields await.  The leaves deceive. A warm breeze on an otherwise chilly morn.  But build the fires because there is an awaiting storm.  Of winter.  Of cloudy skies.  No water moves.  Patterns of the ice cave.  A single sheet of icy rain.  This street is warm (for now).   Sincto Sin.  We all sit by the bon fires.  Escaping reality a little on an autumnal night.  We've reached twilight of the fading summer sun.  All blues faded and gone.  It's about the rustication and burnt embers.  The slow moon to follow.  Dirt and decaying leaves.  Rotting fields of pumpkins and gourds.  The last of the burning sunfire makes it crumble and puss.  All gone into putridity.  All covered over and frozen in time.  The act of death stopped by negative degrees.  Dominai.  Seek shelter in the light of the colored glass windows.  Smell the incense.  Walk the strange hued hallways.  Requiem.  Day for a night.  A long night of winter's sleep.  We see through your bright orb into the future.  From our smoldering logs up into the air on the strangling smoke, we rise and see from autumn, the coming days of dying.  All things die.  One after another.  People do, too.  They fall and leave behind the wild pains of inescapable, irrational human suffering.  We suffer to live.  In a bleak house on a bleak snow laden night, we see our box.  Snowshoes, skis, sleds, skates.  Piled on the floor.  Memories of what it used to be.  Pine trees starring into the dark night of winter.  These were my witnesses.  And time moved forward.  Time is gone. 

Double Crossed

Perhaps it is a day to be thankful and just wish it so.  Wish the days would yield some friend to spare.  But I get the glares.  I get the rolling eyes.  I'd rather have my own company than that of a false friend.  Let's just say, I like you but I know when to quit.  The Avon Lady came calling and she was so kind.  But there will be no calling, just a dirty exchange.  Do your laundry.  If you want to help, do.  But hang it on out to dry.  I miss you.  I miss some small things and some bigger things.  I miss days and nights.  Friends is a concept.  A friend can be a misconception.  No matter what I was into, I could always be cool.  There will always be those around who don't want to understand you.  I guess you have to confess that you are different and deal with the consequences.  May the chips land where they may.  Hopefully, in the end, you'll understand that I was always the waiting ear, the listening friend.  You might realize I was always there but unused, unneeded.  I don't need sweet kisses sent up to Heaven for me.  I've known for two decades what loss means.  Kittens, rainbows, sugar and spice.  That did not serve the days, weeks, months and years between the rain, the snow and desperation.  All of the colors will fade.

Formation of the helix

I've wrapped my loves around a single point in my life.  It seems I've decided that the work would reveal who I truly want to be.  Sometimes, an idea will catch my fancy and I'll try it and decide it is just NOT for me.  But lately, ideas converge in my mind to create one giant life tapestry.  Do I have a single passion?  Not really.  Maybe it's just being curious and seeing what I can do and what I can't do.  I am figuring out my own blocks by trying and it's making me happier.  I am still carrying the fires and dreaming of the stars.  I'm following.  I feel blind except for that lodestar bringing me home.  It is time to dream.  Dream bigger.  Take all of my experiences and let them feed off of each other.  Forging a path where they might grow.  In all honesty, I love the nettles along the road.  They keep me awake and focused and moving along.  I don't know what I'm doing exactly, but I'm creating a path to bumble along.  Something will come together.  Something will make sense.  And it does.  Survivalist mentality, work ethic, wild dreamer, compassionate stranger, world changer... in an unrequited way.  I'm not a screamer or a shouter.  I want to be a doer.  Learning to not list it, but do it.  Not think so much on it, but act on it.  That is how dreams become reality.  So, my reality is like a helix of things wrapping around each other.  Much like my Morning Glory vine twisting and choking over the fence.  Things are going wild out there.  Ideas are setting out on their own to be a wodewose in the forest.  Should I find him, we might merge.  One identity.  One decision.  Being Apollo and Dionysus in one.  Balance.  Yin and yang and all of that, too.  There's no real danger but it is still a tightrope walk.  Building confidence is the very reason one won't fall.  The work has brought us too far from where we started.  I can't see myself as I used to be.  I am excited for what I may become.  This is a boon of transformation.  This physical self must change to allow the spiritual self to evolve.  The harvest cornucopia overwhelmed with health and bounty.  A boon to my spirit.  A buoy, too.  The bane of my existence has always been self doubt.  Now, I see that transformation must occur.  It is painful.  Much like my Monarch friend.  Physical change, spiritual growth, mental shape, emotional depth.  If I can create a vessel that unhinges me from my tethers, what other adventures would be in store for me?  for us?