25 things about me.
1. I would rather be a dolphin or a whale.
2. I would like to take a road trip in outer space.
3. My first car was a 1955 green Cadillac my grandfather gave to me.
4. My second car was a 1967 blue Electra 225 my grandfather gave to me.
5. My third car was a 1977 white Volkswagon Rabbit.
4. Then a Honda Accord briefly in 1987
5. Then a white Mazda RX-7 for a few years.
6. I love driving cross country.
7. I really enjoyed seeing CarHenge in Alliance, Nebraska.
8. I really enjoyed the OZ Museum in Wamego, Kansas.
9. The Hearst Castle in California…and The Grand Canyon are amazing.
10. Russians are my favorite writers.
11. I really enjoyed the whole photography experience much more with film.
12. I love/hate digital photography, computers, cell phones, internet etc. etc. etc.
13. I like watching movies. Quite a bit.
14. I like reading very very much.
15. These sorts of lists pretty much drive me up the wall. But I like other peoples.
16. I like coffee.
17. I really really miss smoking lots of cigarettes and may have to start again someday.
18. People who are sure of themselves sort of bore me to tears.
19. I am hopelessly punctual. Almost never ever ever late at all.
20. I had the same first grade teacher that Dick Van Dyke had.
21. I would like to have a two martini lobotomy…a permanent two drink high.
22. I haven’t been in a fist fight since grade school….and that’s just fine with me.
23. I don’t know why I finally decided to write these 25 things.
in the time of apples
in a town by the lake
I took a walk in the woods
and never came back.
there were statues . . .
and maybe I turned
to stone out of boredom,
clueless about how
to get home.
like a butterfly in the wind
like a sailboat in a hurricane
I want to begin.
I look for a compass
and imagine a map.
And wonder if it matters
because I could sure use a nap.
No matter how long I watch her, or hear her smoky voice,
or listen to her hot words, while her lips caress the language,
or how closely I watch her dance, and swing her hair around––
she is like a beautiful mystery, forever unfolding,
like watching the ocean~~wave after wave, from infinity to
infinity, luscious, dripping, ripe like swollen fruit.
upside down in reality’s playpen.
swinging on the monkey bars of everyday dreams.
flowing with the notion of the motion of the ocean––
rocking steady and sweet in the heartbeat
of cosmic love.
was hounding me
on that cold
I was locked
and I was locked
I turned around
a fire started
I turned around
a gun went off
I turned around
my baby wanted to
give me a book.
Crow kept telling Mr. Bones
that he wanted to fly to the sun.
Mr. Bones tilted his hat back and looked at Crow and yawned.
“It’s been done,” said Mr. Bones, “Icarus, for one…and––you––too,
remember? You’ve done it before––look how that turned out.”
“Not all that bad,” said Crow, “I’m still here, aren’t I? Besides,
this look of burnt to a crisp charred black is rather fashionable in the long run, eh?
So, what’s the harm?”
“Do what you want,” said Mr. Bones. “No way I want to talk you out of it.
But, I’m curious. . . . what’s the big motivation to fly to the sun all of a sudden.”
“I don’t know,” said Crow, “I mean, you gotta do something, right?
You gotta do something. . . . I’m down here–– the sun is up there––
I think it’s time to tango.” And then Crow flew, straight up, to the top
of the sky.
second call lightning bolt
cut by cocktail
Ice caps at the airport bar
waiting to taxi the pain–
stolen moments in front of
another television snowstorm
after the channel
goes off air
(weird first thought of the day before coffee).
Miss Understanding lives in a mansion high up on the hill
and sends chaos waves rolling down all over the whole wide world.
She is so lonely up there, and she can’t talk to anyone because
her words all come out backwards and freeze in mid-air and
shatter on the marble floor or her palace. She isn’t mean or cruel,
and she doesn’t even know she is sending chaos waves that short-
circuit peoples ability to love each other. She just doesn’t understand.
Someday, when the singularity happens, she’ll be singing a different tune.
But, we aren’t sure what that song might sound like. It could be a harmomious
glorious sound creaitng epiphany and compassion and putting an instant stop
to all war and emtional cruelty and pain. Or, it could sound like a dull
tromping dirge, like an army of robots walking through the swamp of
cluelessness. together, understanding everything so completely,
but on a very low level that misses the point of all evolution,
like 20 colors of paint mixed together to make the color of mud.
But, that is for another day.
Today, Miss Understanding relaxes on the chaise lounge by the pool and
sips her martinis and chain smokes her Virginia Slims. She wants to believe
she’s come a long way, baby, but, she’s been there since the beginning of time,
since the first communication, and if anything, she’s only gotten more complex.
Say a prayer for the gal, like Nora Desmond, ready for her close up, she knows
nothing of what she speaks, but there is no doubt in her mind she knows exactly
what she means.