housecarpenter.mp3 1.5 Mb

Through a hole I could see with utter clarity and focus the skeins of heavy hawser that would arrive unbidden and unravel, starkly backlit, on the backs of my eyelids, and grow and pulsate in messy and ravenous abandon until the entirety of my vision's field was filled and I awoke shuddering.

wabashcannonball.mp3 2.8 Mb

king herod.mp3 2.9 Mb

When suddenly, momentarily, I saw the soul of a man rise toward the light, Lazarus seeking a fly in a back-eddy.

wayfaringstranger.mp3 3.3 Mb

I found the edge of the world

 yesterday, and the gears are frozen.  The great vaulted doors which keep in from out, and that hold back the sudden rush of time from catapulting over itself, have chinks, and there is nobody there to tighten the screws.

The last owner and operator seemed to be a childish packrat, tossing his toys about with careless abandon before a hasty departure.  

Some early prototypes lie in dusty neglect, the molds' cracked and the concepts' shelved.

We drew crazy circles in the dirt with our toes, on that rope swing years and years ago, and bent to better hear the melody fluting out of anthills.  

Now, my friends, behold the dust

of Ferric Oxide, known as rust.

Which some might mistake as a sea-going tram car.  Oh, Easy for Leonardo!

I knew a girl once who loved telephone lines and the towers that held them up.  Not poles, but those skeletal, ribcaged iron spiders that march in line through cornfields and into the haze.  I hadn't thought of her in years; we weren't best of friends, but I silently and thankfully appreciated her, and straight lines into a distance is a gift that I would give her, if I had her here.

And in the last orange flaring burn before equalizing night, colors double themselves in effort to remain relevant.  We all polish a bit harder when faced with our own redundancy.

Go not a-roving, the old one is saying, and think of thrift.

Slap your Hands Say Ughh

All right, lets get going here.  Hopefully the sheer weight of these stones rolling off my shoulders will convey how hard it is raining outside.

Like the Dellmore Bros. say, Time Goes By, and still I cant be Free.

Start we at the beginning, or at least the most recent be

ginning, for good lord knows there are enough of them.  In red brick and orange light, contemplate the section yard, the southern railroad of Seattle, where once stood the proud Rainier brewery, along 

side coal-fired trains and men in overalls.  Oh, Four Roses too, to be sure, in a brown paper bag.  With the summer on the horizon, yet without the leaves to remind us that it will even sooner be gone, 

this is the sacred time of day and year, when we move effortlessly through the vapor of 

life like we are swimming; the universe aligns itself, and we simply bask.

Then, it is off to the peninsula, and !Quileute Days!  that famous celebration of indigenous fireworks, Coors, and motorized canoes.  The landscape is pristine, except where we put our tent, which was the hulking skeleton offspring of charred sea-cucumber and mary poppins umbrella.  It was dark when we got out there, so we camped strategically right next to a Honey Bucket, our north star in that great darkness.  At one point, it got to be like a Buster Keaton movie scored with Scott Joplin; myriad tiny dancers' doing the Bladder Unstuck.

Towards Completion, or Protein Synthesis and You

Naught to be excused.
Naught to be said.
Read these lines,
Go to bed.

In homage of e.e. cummings, written with the visual in mind, although his imaginal literal and floral weren't bad either.

August finds us in a churning miasma of scent. The odor of body, the clinging aroma of performing seals mixed with lilac, mixes imperceptibly with simple lack of a correct pronoun.

*Per Capita Ipsum* It will be months before any secure and cogent theme emerges. Until then, make do with photos, for they speak far more monosyllabically than I.

The problem with living in the hole in a tree, aside from honey getting into absolutely everything, is that very few trees (even those hoary old walnuts) have a magical connection to the internet. The problem, subsequently, with this situation, again excluding the honey, is that this old blog-o tends to be very rarely up-to-date. I shall fill you in presently.