and then it is gone,
We walked through the woods this afternoon
(and though we had them
not enough to open umbrellas)
—the drops caught by the fresh green canopy
of newly emerged leaves
over the path.
Almost, just almost, you could feel
the throbbing humming pulsing—
flower scents mingling
with wet earth smells of decay.
The passionate watercolor brushes of Charles Burchfield
would be my choice for trying to capture
this palpitating quivering trembling mural
of early spring.
We talked very little—
mostly adjectives of Awe.
Diving acrobats, the birds
from tree to ground
He lay his head on the pillow, eyes closing to the outlines of the room created by the streetlight through the curtains.
And so his ears took over the vigilance. As his body relaxed on the bed he pulled a cool smooth sheet over himself.
They had made love. She was half way to dreams already. Even during a war people need sleep, need touch.
Through the window from outside that familiar hum — something he’d never taken the time to identify, something just always there filling the night air. He has surmised a generator. He has imagined a hovering…
Some days swirl around
in whirlpools of water
—into the plumbing.
Most days open shades pour coffee
soap toothpaste comb to praise Hygeia
Greek goddess of health
—lather rinse no need to repeat.
Many days rebirth missed
as sun arrived with horizon grandeur
while heads sunk in pillows lost in dreams
—of cellphone malfunctions or worse.
Okay let’s on with it!
Slide into one pant leg
careful balance then the other
— lift up, zipper and exit.
“The passage of my life is measured out in shirts.”- Brian Eno
Ah subway! weary of Time!
The beginning of the movie.
The end of the movie.
—“The stuff that dreams are made of.”
—Cold day in hell.
—“I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day of January 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974.”
—”He knew what those jubilant crowds did not know but could have learned from books: that the plague bacillus never dies or disappears for good; that it can lie dormant for years…
William had slipped on his jeweler’s binoculars, clicked on the green banker’s lamp on the desk, and peered into the polished gemstone.
“Do you see her?”—asked Ignatius.
William was silent for a moment—then let out a loud gasp.
“Yes. YES! I can’t believe it.”
1. Colloquially, jingoism is excessive bias in judging one’s own country as superior to others — an extreme type of nationalism.
2. Groupthink is a psychological phenomenon that occurs within a group of people in which the desire for harmony or conformity in the group results in an irrational or dysfunctional decision-making outcome.
Happy Jingoism Days Are Here Again
In the United States of America the fountains of mass-media will once again gush forth with Jingoism-flavored Kool-Aid. This happens three times a year.
Politicians will make grandiloquent speeches. The U.S. Air Force Thunderbolts will tear up the sky to dazzle…
Mail art, also known as postal art and correspondence art, is a creative movement centered on sending small-scale works through the postal service.
Media include postcards, collages, rubber stamps and artist-created stamps—and anything else imaginable, or not, that can be sent through the mail.
I was involved in the internationl mail-art network — sending and receiving works through the mails with hundreds of individuals in many countries during the late 1970s and early 1980s. I have 8 large bankers boxes full of these works—ranging from the plain to the sublime. I operated under a couple different nom de guerre’s…
Where was I?
Oh yeah—a few months ago I wrote:
“Walking around the city remains one of my very favorite activities — feeding my Eye for Awe upon the smörgåsbord of objects and creatures that one can encounter here.”
And the walking hasn’t stopped.
In fact, with the warm weather arriving and my fear of the mindless maskless members of my species decreasing, I’ve been regularly hitting daily steps in 5 digits.
Life is short and the older you get, the more you feel it. Indeed, the shorter it is. People lose their capacity to walk, run, travel, think, and…
Scenario For A Dream
Think movies — Pleasantville, Truman Show, maybe a Tim Burton movie set like Pee-wee’s Big Adventure or Edward Scissorhands.
Now populate it with hundreds of picture-perfect, deliciously painted Victorian Houses of all sizes. The downtown area will feature ice cream parlors, breakfast cafes and gift shops.
The streets — immaculately clean. Nice lawns and lush front yard gardens ending at a boardwalk that faces the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. Dunes, sand, a pier.
Just look at that perfect horizon line. …