Sometimes I think we are the dreamer and sometimes I think we are the dream. The truth is more plainly that we are a statistic in a vast database floating in the multiverse like a Tardus from Dr Who episodes. Really should there be a purpose or plan to creation in the first place. Is the world less beautiful if we are simply here by the grace of probablity on a interstellar scale? Maybe that would make us appreciate things more. The impulse to manipulate, now there was a discovery a tool of language and concept. The lever to more mountains. The method by which we chase the tail of our own existence!
Alas I think we are catching up with our tails on a number of levels, for instance ecologically we are running out of resources and energy. I feel that as we press onward technology will be faced with the physical limits of scale both in space and electronics. Hopefully we will find ways to continue to conserve energy and provide clean renewable sources of the energy needs of a growing population.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
well that last post was certainly a workout. i was a little chilled to re read what apparently just poured out of my distressed mind that night. The philosopher and organ grinder thing really kind of made me laugh but then I see too much Tom Waits scenarios in it. What was that about?
The smell I think comes from the fields of abandoned lots near where I work. When it rains they do have this smell of rotten vegetables which is not entirely disagreeable. I am not sure where I got the idea that it smelled like old cheese in my neighborhood. Bizarre foods and an appatite for cheese I guess. Maybe straw and mushrooms would have been a better decription. But I wanted it to be an evil smell like burning flesh sickly sweet etc.
Foremost I admit it was self-indulgent> But thats what blogging should be all about in my opinion. Oh I have a long way to go as a writer. I can justify most of this only by the therapuetic benefits of making shit up for strangers and friends to laugh about and scorn me for writing. It makes my skin thicker as a writer and I dont worry so much about what other people think. It also improves my typing skills and build a lot of creative ideas in a searchable format digital even.
For one day when I do embark on writing that novel or story or whatever it may be and when I inevitability have writers block I can thumb through these pages and remember how crazy ideas once poured from my pen as well as analysis of my own version of reality.
There are you know many versions of reality each instant can be its own infinity like a still photo taken. But that may be another blog all together. Rest assured that your boy the bayou bird is still hanging onto some threads of sanity despite all attempts to push me over the edge I cling to eternal truths such as debts taxes and death. The will to repay is often the only thing that keeps me going!
The smell I think comes from the fields of abandoned lots near where I work. When it rains they do have this smell of rotten vegetables which is not entirely disagreeable. I am not sure where I got the idea that it smelled like old cheese in my neighborhood. Bizarre foods and an appatite for cheese I guess. Maybe straw and mushrooms would have been a better decription. But I wanted it to be an evil smell like burning flesh sickly sweet etc.
Foremost I admit it was self-indulgent> But thats what blogging should be all about in my opinion. Oh I have a long way to go as a writer. I can justify most of this only by the therapuetic benefits of making shit up for strangers and friends to laugh about and scorn me for writing. It makes my skin thicker as a writer and I dont worry so much about what other people think. It also improves my typing skills and build a lot of creative ideas in a searchable format digital even.
For one day when I do embark on writing that novel or story or whatever it may be and when I inevitability have writers block I can thumb through these pages and remember how crazy ideas once poured from my pen as well as analysis of my own version of reality.
There are you know many versions of reality each instant can be its own infinity like a still photo taken. But that may be another blog all together. Rest assured that your boy the bayou bird is still hanging onto some threads of sanity despite all attempts to push me over the edge I cling to eternal truths such as debts taxes and death. The will to repay is often the only thing that keeps me going!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Cabbage breath or words about nature
Outside tonight it smelled like some treasured old cheese mixed with a wave of cabbage breathe. I think the smell came from the rain that devastated Birmingham and other southern US cities overnight. The smell of cabbage and cheese it left here in Shreveport was like the passing of the evil spirit in the night.
Luckily all we got here was a lot of rain and thunder and wind a few days ago. I walked to Henry's house before it hit. We listened to the sound of the thunder and rain and watched the weather channel. We suited up in rain gear and stood in the driveway during the height of it all wondering if it was advisable or even safe to walk down the street to McDonalds for coffee. In the end, when my shoes began to let the rain water seep in and dampen my socks, I decided that it was neither of these things and went back inside my friend's house to wait for all this maddening downpouring of water and thunder to stop.
Now according to my mother, "Everything seems greener." And it smells a little bit like rotting cheese and or moldy cabbage outside around the bayous and sewers especially. Rotting vegetable matter and higher water levels in all the houses that back up against the slow meanderign waterways so lush and green and ultimately smelly. That's about all that is left of what turned so evil and destructive when it reached our neighboring states. The awesomeness of nature's power always strikes the anvil will of americans desire to remain in the driver's seat of this corvette running up hill on fumes and trying to shift gears to save us all.
That's is all. The struggle to be free and at once return to nature's bliss. Insulate and imitate the call of the wild. Keep the cycle spinning like a Ferris wheel turning for the song of the organ grinder the blind man with the monkey an the tin cup all the philosophers try to bargain over as they grinders songs ebb and flow erudite logic crumbles to the sound of mere coins rattling the tin cup. It plays on. And the haggling continues to approximate lessons we described a war ago and still fail to heed. Trying to decide if we are monkey, or grinder, or the philosopher's coin in the tin cup. Trying to decide if the philosopher exists at all. Maybe it is really all just the coin of a realm long vanished. Maybe the realm is our own shadow stretching out long before us like at the first sunrise, big shoes to fill.
Nature is like that to me. So big and yet so near and accessible. The moon in a dew drop say some Zen koans. The moon in a dew drop.... now imagine a genuine dew drop on the moon and nature has thought of that too. We are a finger pointing at Zen. We are the philosopher's coin and nature is the blind organ grinder. The monkey is technology and we must bargain with it whether or not the blind grinder overhears our worldly dealings.
There is a way to look at things that brings to bear the fruit of the last century on the weight of history. Move the fulcrum and the lever can move great mountains of BS. Great mountains. And time itself will cleave open someday giving way to a path beyond the stars. Then all this will begin again from the dewdrop to the mountain to the tornado stricken cities because the monkey will never be able to cure the blindness of his master. And the philosopher has a pocket full of monkey coins like us. I can only understand nature insofar as I am not a part of it, being nothing yields satori and then it can burst forth again in the form of the only class of koan that is not a paradox.
Luckily all we got here was a lot of rain and thunder and wind a few days ago. I walked to Henry's house before it hit. We listened to the sound of the thunder and rain and watched the weather channel. We suited up in rain gear and stood in the driveway during the height of it all wondering if it was advisable or even safe to walk down the street to McDonalds for coffee. In the end, when my shoes began to let the rain water seep in and dampen my socks, I decided that it was neither of these things and went back inside my friend's house to wait for all this maddening downpouring of water and thunder to stop.
Now according to my mother, "Everything seems greener." And it smells a little bit like rotting cheese and or moldy cabbage outside around the bayous and sewers especially. Rotting vegetable matter and higher water levels in all the houses that back up against the slow meanderign waterways so lush and green and ultimately smelly. That's about all that is left of what turned so evil and destructive when it reached our neighboring states. The awesomeness of nature's power always strikes the anvil will of americans desire to remain in the driver's seat of this corvette running up hill on fumes and trying to shift gears to save us all.
That's is all. The struggle to be free and at once return to nature's bliss. Insulate and imitate the call of the wild. Keep the cycle spinning like a Ferris wheel turning for the song of the organ grinder the blind man with the monkey an the tin cup all the philosophers try to bargain over as they grinders songs ebb and flow erudite logic crumbles to the sound of mere coins rattling the tin cup. It plays on. And the haggling continues to approximate lessons we described a war ago and still fail to heed. Trying to decide if we are monkey, or grinder, or the philosopher's coin in the tin cup. Trying to decide if the philosopher exists at all. Maybe it is really all just the coin of a realm long vanished. Maybe the realm is our own shadow stretching out long before us like at the first sunrise, big shoes to fill.
Nature is like that to me. So big and yet so near and accessible. The moon in a dew drop say some Zen koans. The moon in a dew drop.... now imagine a genuine dew drop on the moon and nature has thought of that too. We are a finger pointing at Zen. We are the philosopher's coin and nature is the blind organ grinder. The monkey is technology and we must bargain with it whether or not the blind grinder overhears our worldly dealings.
There is a way to look at things that brings to bear the fruit of the last century on the weight of history. Move the fulcrum and the lever can move great mountains of BS. Great mountains. And time itself will cleave open someday giving way to a path beyond the stars. Then all this will begin again from the dewdrop to the mountain to the tornado stricken cities because the monkey will never be able to cure the blindness of his master. And the philosopher has a pocket full of monkey coins like us. I can only understand nature insofar as I am not a part of it, being nothing yields satori and then it can burst forth again in the form of the only class of koan that is not a paradox.
Haircut day
Hey this nice woman named Sydni gave me a haircut I really like. Now my locks are long and tame for a few more weeks. The only problem now is that I haven't eaten diner. Since I have a mild form of diabetes that may develop into a problem as the evening wears on.
Man I love any woman named Sydni just about. It's all in the spelling of the name I guess. What man can resist a woman who cleverly transposes the "y" and the "i" in what is traditionally a male name. It's all about being sexy and strong and yes a little bit more clever than your average female. The fact that she liked my Zeppelin t shirt only underscored her above average intelligence and good taste. Yes, I hope to return to see Sydni to get my manly locks trimmed as often as possible now. More often than every four months at least.
The rest of the day today was a little bit less exciting. Just work and meetings and riding the bus and driving the Mattie-mobile (my mom's car.) I have gotten to where I prefer to ride the bus I think because a quarter tank of gas set me back twenty seven and 50 today. The bus ride one way was only a buck and a quarter. So I dont mind the bus -- as long as I am not in a hurry. And as long as its not raining; or too hot.
But food. What is good to eat when you have to consider cholesterol and carbohydrates and calories. I eat a lot of grilled fish and chicken. Almost no breads. No milk even though I love the stuff so much I try to fool myself into thinking soy milk comes out of a cow. Salad. Strawberries. For some reason I like peanut butter and white corn tortillas and chicken or fish. Buckwheat noodles are good too. Oh yeah a boiled egg every now and then is not the end of the world.
McDonalds french fries are like the assassin hiding in the shadows. Each cholesterol drenched morsel a ninja sworn to clog my otherwise pristine arteries. But alas in the real world there is even a small flirtation with death by ninja. Nina the french fry ninja at McDonalds. The thief set on breaking my heart. For real.
Man I love any woman named Sydni just about. It's all in the spelling of the name I guess. What man can resist a woman who cleverly transposes the "y" and the "i" in what is traditionally a male name. It's all about being sexy and strong and yes a little bit more clever than your average female. The fact that she liked my Zeppelin t shirt only underscored her above average intelligence and good taste. Yes, I hope to return to see Sydni to get my manly locks trimmed as often as possible now. More often than every four months at least.
The rest of the day today was a little bit less exciting. Just work and meetings and riding the bus and driving the Mattie-mobile (my mom's car.) I have gotten to where I prefer to ride the bus I think because a quarter tank of gas set me back twenty seven and 50 today. The bus ride one way was only a buck and a quarter. So I dont mind the bus -- as long as I am not in a hurry. And as long as its not raining; or too hot.
But food. What is good to eat when you have to consider cholesterol and carbohydrates and calories. I eat a lot of grilled fish and chicken. Almost no breads. No milk even though I love the stuff so much I try to fool myself into thinking soy milk comes out of a cow. Salad. Strawberries. For some reason I like peanut butter and white corn tortillas and chicken or fish. Buckwheat noodles are good too. Oh yeah a boiled egg every now and then is not the end of the world.
McDonalds french fries are like the assassin hiding in the shadows. Each cholesterol drenched morsel a ninja sworn to clog my otherwise pristine arteries. But alas in the real world there is even a small flirtation with death by ninja. Nina the french fry ninja at McDonalds. The thief set on breaking my heart. For real.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Henry and Tim crash India Night at the University
Dude: Thanks for phoning in you comments Saturday.
Everyone else: I like this Kiran Arwuhalia song for some vision of rice fields in Thailand at dusk. Never even left Louisiana in years though. I must be recalling a Rambo movie scene or just trippin' HA! arwuhalia is apparently the same person as
who appears in wikipedia here. if you google the above name you get a lot more info. Click the face typography above for link to google search for that name.
Then if you click on the name below you perhaps get some different results...
It took me all night to figure that out.
But I realize now the rice paddies are supposed to be in India and not in Thailand. Oh well. Must have been the beef burrito I ate while watching Rambo save more POWs that gave me such a vivid image of sunsets.
Og course I jest. Its just that India and or Thailand are so far away. It is both easy to imagine and very difficult to believe my imagaination may be anywhere nearly approximating the real thing. I would be the same me that I am in SHreveport I guess, only I would be far away, but not like on a different planet. Easy to imagine a sunset there. Much more difficult to imagine what on earth I may be doing in India or Thailand than it would be to simply imagine standing there and watching the sun set. The question then is what do i do NEXT?
I would probably be trying to make my way back to lovely Louisiana.
The indian music was very good last night and the food was terrific indian food. I am fond of the mailai kofta little vegetable balls in a orange cream sauce which is pretty hot from all the peppers.
Henry though it was funny that the music sounded a little like dueling bajos. It was Hindustani music and folkish during th esecond half with lots of visual genstures between the musicians as they took us on a flight of imagaination around the musical tones from India and as they gestured I could see they were engaging in musical calculations and navigating through mathemeatics and logic to bring the audience safely to a fitting conclusion> Buffet diner was available for some 23 tables. I found great pride in telling the lawyer beside me that I worked for the poirest non profit organization in town and got in to the prestigeous company that evening for free. I must have smiled at every woman there twice also. Did not drink a drop, chatted it up with the neighbors from down the street who I havent seen in 10 in years an drove Henry home in his own car. It was fun.
Everyone else: I like this Kiran Arwuhalia song for some vision of rice fields in Thailand at dusk. Never even left Louisiana in years though. I must be recalling a Rambo movie scene or just trippin' HA! arwuhalia is apparently the same person as
Kiran Ahluwalia
who appears in wikipedia here. if you google the above name you get a lot more info. Click the face typography above for link to google search for that name.
Then if you click on the name below you perhaps get some different results...
It took me all night to figure that out.
But I realize now the rice paddies are supposed to be in India and not in Thailand. Oh well. Must have been the beef burrito I ate while watching Rambo save more POWs that gave me such a vivid image of sunsets.
Og course I jest. Its just that India and or Thailand are so far away. It is both easy to imagine and very difficult to believe my imagaination may be anywhere nearly approximating the real thing. I would be the same me that I am in SHreveport I guess, only I would be far away, but not like on a different planet. Easy to imagine a sunset there. Much more difficult to imagine what on earth I may be doing in India or Thailand than it would be to simply imagine standing there and watching the sun set. The question then is what do i do NEXT?
I would probably be trying to make my way back to lovely Louisiana.
The indian music was very good last night and the food was terrific indian food. I am fond of the mailai kofta little vegetable balls in a orange cream sauce which is pretty hot from all the peppers.
Henry though it was funny that the music sounded a little like dueling bajos. It was Hindustani music and folkish during th esecond half with lots of visual genstures between the musicians as they took us on a flight of imagaination around the musical tones from India and as they gestured I could see they were engaging in musical calculations and navigating through mathemeatics and logic to bring the audience safely to a fitting conclusion> Buffet diner was available for some 23 tables. I found great pride in telling the lawyer beside me that I worked for the poirest non profit organization in town and got in to the prestigeous company that evening for free. I must have smiled at every woman there twice also. Did not drink a drop, chatted it up with the neighbors from down the street who I havent seen in 10 in years an drove Henry home in his own car. It was fun.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Im in super chill mode right now. Tired and feeling the energycirculating around my shoulders. Nervous about attending and Indian music concert tomorrow afternoon. I was invited to attend free of charge by the organizer of the event. It should be a great and mind opening concert that does not happen but once a year here. This is the first year I will be attending. Henry is going to drive I think. I mean Im talking a slacks and tie event here. If I were wealthy I would wear Indian clothes all made especially for me. I hope there are plenty of celebrating Indian Ameican people there.
Also I am making another disc. This time Simon and Garfunkle and the Beatles meet the NevillesBros and Liquid Mind and Moby. I am putting it on my mp3 player as I write this.
But the meditation I have when I am tired is great. I can feel my heart rate slow and muscles relax. I has taken me years of practise and I am still not an expert meditate-er but I am making progress. I am starting to enjoy living again. Things have slowed way down from a couple of years ago when I felt like I was on a run away roller-coaster ride.
So I say here all day wrestling with finances. I just got paid my meager salary from the non profit and already the money is largely gone. Bills. Student loans and imprudent purchases all look the same on the checks I write. One day all this will be settled and I guess that will be the day that I die.
It is hard to be austere and happy at the same time but not entirely impossible. It just takes imagaination and some help from my friends. The budget need not be broken by an occassional indulgence of the sweet tooth. The need to communbe with nature looms large in my mind during the spring also. So with some help from my friends I satisfy my self with walks and planning to go to Hot Springs National Forest before it gets too hot and bug-y there. Soon, we will camp near the place where 6 people lost their lives in 2010 due to flash flooding. But that was in March . I think May is a much safer month to camp in the ancient Ouchita and Ozark National Forests. Then we hot the springs in the city if there is any money left an pot of coffee at the hotel across the street late at night for the sleepy city of Hot SPrings and then the 4 hourride back to Shreveport.
Talked to "Red Becca" at the historic Blind Tiger restaurant during lunch today. Sam Mason ate with me and Henry. We talked about quitting smoking and psychology mostly while we sat at the bar and drank clear ice tea with out the ice. Henry played video poker as usual.
Tonight Hery plays the Puccini opera Tosca. I can either take or leave opera. As I said before the Indian Music sounded more interesting this time. I dont speak Italian and I undertand the sitar much better that the singers in such operas as that one.
Late now, mp3 player is synched and now I will walk for 1/2 hour and visit with Henry some more when he returns from the opera in which he is one of the musicians. We will eat cheese and listen to Public radio for a bit and then I walk home and dream about what embrace-able similarities to today that tomorrow will bring.
Also I am making another disc. This time Simon and Garfunkle and the Beatles meet the NevillesBros and Liquid Mind and Moby. I am putting it on my mp3 player as I write this.
But the meditation I have when I am tired is great. I can feel my heart rate slow and muscles relax. I has taken me years of practise and I am still not an expert meditate-er but I am making progress. I am starting to enjoy living again. Things have slowed way down from a couple of years ago when I felt like I was on a run away roller-coaster ride.
So I say here all day wrestling with finances. I just got paid my meager salary from the non profit and already the money is largely gone. Bills. Student loans and imprudent purchases all look the same on the checks I write. One day all this will be settled and I guess that will be the day that I die.
It is hard to be austere and happy at the same time but not entirely impossible. It just takes imagaination and some help from my friends. The budget need not be broken by an occassional indulgence of the sweet tooth. The need to communbe with nature looms large in my mind during the spring also. So with some help from my friends I satisfy my self with walks and planning to go to Hot Springs National Forest before it gets too hot and bug-y there. Soon, we will camp near the place where 6 people lost their lives in 2010 due to flash flooding. But that was in March . I think May is a much safer month to camp in the ancient Ouchita and Ozark National Forests. Then we hot the springs in the city if there is any money left an pot of coffee at the hotel across the street late at night for the sleepy city of Hot SPrings and then the 4 hourride back to Shreveport.
Talked to "Red Becca" at the historic Blind Tiger restaurant during lunch today. Sam Mason ate with me and Henry. We talked about quitting smoking and psychology mostly while we sat at the bar and drank clear ice tea with out the ice. Henry played video poker as usual.
Tonight Hery plays the Puccini opera Tosca. I can either take or leave opera. As I said before the Indian Music sounded more interesting this time. I dont speak Italian and I undertand the sitar much better that the singers in such operas as that one.
Late now, mp3 player is synched and now I will walk for 1/2 hour and visit with Henry some more when he returns from the opera in which he is one of the musicians. We will eat cheese and listen to Public radio for a bit and then I walk home and dream about what embrace-able similarities to today that tomorrow will bring.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
It's supposed to rain tonight, but it has not yet rained. I am supposed to walk 2 mi before the rain, before McDonald's lobby closes. I do not think I will make it to get coffee at McDonald's tonight. Instead I find myself sitting inside my spare bedroom office and listening to old New Age albums. Pretty typical stuff like Michael Hedges and Ray Lynch mixed with the Decembrists and Nirvana and Pat Metheny and believe it or not I even listened to Nora Jones recording of Come Away with Me. As far as Nora Jones goes I like her singing Tom Waits "got a head full of lightning and a hand full of rain...I always take the long way home" Oh yeah I was listening to Tom sing Way Down in the Hole which is convincing good.
$1 Crab cakes from SUper One. Mmm Mmm Mmm. Hot and spicy even.
Still waiting on it to rain. I wanted orginally to go to the Indian Night at LSUS on Sunday because I kinda like sitar music, but now I heare there will be an intermission and a buffet and I am beginning to wonder how much the ticket(s) will be.
Oh good ness sakes alive I cannot type to save my simple life. I guess soon I will get a speech recog thing and try to dictate a book of poems to it. I will see how mcuh that costs! The reason I like to work in verse. I was thinking about this earluier today is because I can seem more like an expert in verse than in prose and I am no expert. I am fluent only in English and only marginally so in evenEnglish. SOmetimes I think there are large parts of the the English language that only get spoke behind closed doors subrosa and are never heard by large swathes of the population that watches FOX News and that kind of fair. I don t think people hear everything that goes on all aroudn them. Not a new Idea here. People have selective hearing. Even me. Even you!
NO I havenet gotten the speech recog thing yet. Not sure if it would work with the blogger interface. Speech recog has been aroudn for a few decades now I wonder if it has gotten to the point where it works worth a damn? Trying out somwthing like that could be fun for me, perhaps even theraputic. You think?
But finally the quarter is over at workl and now I can take a little but of a breather again. No more hurrying around for a week or sol. But it will always be soemthing wont it? Yes it will. Would you like to buy some worthless junk now? He he. Just wonderig if you are giving in to my subliminal salemanship. SHeepishly I slink arounf the off ice here at home wondering who that love poem I wrote last week is about.? It think I am in love with Sade! "There s a quiet storm and I ve never felt like this before... "
$1 Crab cakes from SUper One. Mmm Mmm Mmm. Hot and spicy even.
Still waiting on it to rain. I wanted orginally to go to the Indian Night at LSUS on Sunday because I kinda like sitar music, but now I heare there will be an intermission and a buffet and I am beginning to wonder how much the ticket(s) will be.
Oh good ness sakes alive I cannot type to save my simple life. I guess soon I will get a speech recog thing and try to dictate a book of poems to it. I will see how mcuh that costs! The reason I like to work in verse. I was thinking about this earluier today is because I can seem more like an expert in verse than in prose and I am no expert. I am fluent only in English and only marginally so in evenEnglish. SOmetimes I think there are large parts of the the English language that only get spoke behind closed doors subrosa and are never heard by large swathes of the population that watches FOX News and that kind of fair. I don t think people hear everything that goes on all aroudn them. Not a new Idea here. People have selective hearing. Even me. Even you!
NO I havenet gotten the speech recog thing yet. Not sure if it would work with the blogger interface. Speech recog has been aroudn for a few decades now I wonder if it has gotten to the point where it works worth a damn? Trying out somwthing like that could be fun for me, perhaps even theraputic. You think?
But finally the quarter is over at workl and now I can take a little but of a breather again. No more hurrying around for a week or sol. But it will always be soemthing wont it? Yes it will. Would you like to buy some worthless junk now? He he. Just wonderig if you are giving in to my subliminal salemanship. SHeepishly I slink arounf the off ice here at home wondering who that love poem I wrote last week is about.? It think I am in love with Sade! "There s a quiet storm and I ve never felt like this before... "
Monday, April 11, 2011
My Extradimentional Thoughts (turned love poem as an afterthought)
Mold spore of a self assembling abyss:
Why should intelligence and language
Be any different than Nature?
Someone knows the answer to this
In all the laws of practical philosophy
Someone unknown hurmit crab of man
Someone knows why their is a heartbeat
To time itself and resonance between reincarnation
And our churning galaxy dancing with infinity.
Mold spores at the air vent
Of a transport to Mars
Look like the Mandelbrot sets of
the coloring book you left on the my desk.
You must not like the way I ignore you when I write.
But when I look you are gone again.
The spots I see before my eyes now
Are fractals exploding over and over
They are like snow crystals under the magnifier
The are fireworks than never end
Time is the noose around the neck of impossible
Distance is the time it takes to die
Speed is like the knife that cuts the rope of infinity
I am the thief that loots the gems of escape.
You are the cook that brings each morning
Sweets to a condemned prisoner of your love.
Romantic ideas from what little I know of cosmology.
Your eyes capture the transcendental
The paradoxical the ethos and the mystery
The line of your torso is the expression
Of a spring wind kissing the thunderstorm's
Delicate rumble -- your fingers the first cool rain
On the minerally leaffy foilage I once called Music.
How do we come to assemble from the abyss?
Someone knows the answer.
Whisper it to me when your lips touch my kiss.
Why should intelligence and language
Be any different than Nature?
Someone knows the answer to this
In all the laws of practical philosophy
Someone unknown hurmit crab of man
Someone knows why their is a heartbeat
To time itself and resonance between reincarnation
And our churning galaxy dancing with infinity.
Mold spores at the air vent
Of a transport to Mars
Look like the Mandelbrot sets of
the coloring book you left on the my desk.
You must not like the way I ignore you when I write.
But when I look you are gone again.
The spots I see before my eyes now
Are fractals exploding over and over
They are like snow crystals under the magnifier
The are fireworks than never end
Time is the noose around the neck of impossible
Distance is the time it takes to die
Speed is like the knife that cuts the rope of infinity
I am the thief that loots the gems of escape.
You are the cook that brings each morning
Sweets to a condemned prisoner of your love.
Romantic ideas from what little I know of cosmology.
Your eyes capture the transcendental
The paradoxical the ethos and the mystery
The line of your torso is the expression
Of a spring wind kissing the thunderstorm's
Delicate rumble -- your fingers the first cool rain
On the minerally leaffy foilage I once called Music.
How do we come to assemble from the abyss?
Someone knows the answer.
Whisper it to me when your lips touch my kiss.
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