Art is everywhere, but most only see it when it’s put in a fancy frame, installed in an art show or defined as such by pretentious critics’. I do love art. I love Bukowski and Kerouac….Their pens like divining rods, separating raw sewage from raw beauty. Some people breakdown playing the piano into a math problem, into intervals and the frequency of notes on a page, but that’s missing the point of playing the piano. Why paint by numbers when there’s so much more waiting outside the lines. Doodle, scribble, close your eyes and let the music flow through you, out of you, into you——like a new color that’s yet to be discovered.
Zen
At The Speed Of Foreverness
In spite of our long days and the swiftness of these passing years We’ve reluctantly grown old Old as in running out of time The potholed street of aging leads to a cul de sac of convalescence Age robs us of youths vanities It rubs our hair off, dulls our eyesight and deafens our hearing We slowly cave in on ourselves We can no longer get by on our sexiness or youthful bravado We’re left with a fading wit and the shreds of a once charmed personality This leaves some bitter, while others are liberated There’s nothing more attractive than someone who no longer gives a shit about what others think of them Shriveled skin, brittle bones, hemorrhoids and varicose veins ain’t so bad It’s the fading of memories and the onset of feeble mindedness that leaves us befuddled There’s that moment of confusion when we enter a room and forget what we needed there, or what we were looking for, or even why we came there in the first place??? But, I’ll fight like hell to forever remember your face
Tigers Or Table Scraps
The universe keeps trying to convince me that I’m mediocre, but I refuse to give in. All the greats have had to fight that urge to shrink and fit into normalcy.
Crazy is better than normalcy, going mad is better than normalcy. Do something, do anything to prove that you’re still alive—-that you’re a worthy opponent. Release your bullshit on the world like a tiger ripping into a fallen gazelle.
Kill or be killed—–most are already dead and feeding on table scraps. The true holy ones aren’t afraid to climb free solo—they know that no one is tethered to security.
Make fear your best-friend and nothing will ever scare you again.
Life Lesson
There’s no free lunch
No free-ride
There’s but one life lesson
No Ticky
No washy
Helplessness
There’s a certain kind of emptiness, comes with the loss of innocence
A certain kind of brokenness, at the heart of all this helplessness
There’s a certain kind of sadness, at the close of every summer
A certain kind of loneliness, takes me back to when I was younger
My memories like a Monet impression
My poetry like a Kerouac confession
Behind every sin, there’s a hard earned blessin
We all remember things, the way we choose
Do you remember it, the way I do
You hid behind your curtains
But for a moment, I saw through
There’s a certain kind of emptiness, comes with the loss of innocence
Age
They say I’m old. But they don’t know what old is. They break it down into a simple math equation. They take my birthdate as the starting point, then they take the current date and add up the years between the two dates They’ll say that number is my age, they’ll say that’s how old I am. But they don’t understand that I’m not the sum of the years I’ve lived, but rather, I’m all my ages——-all the time.
Who I am, is all the things I’ve ever been. I’m the little girl playing with dolls and having a tea party. I’m the young girl learning how to dance. I’m the teen in the party dress nervously hoping some boy will ask me to dance. I’m the one discovering that indescribable passion of a first love. In me, is the youthful college graduate filled with tenacity and anxious to chase down her dreams. I’m the beautiful woman in that old photo dressed in a white wedding dress. I’m the first time mother gently cradling her baby. I’m the strong willed and determined career woman earning her respect in a man’s world. I’m the proud grandparent braiding her granddaughters hair. I’m the retired woman meeting her long time friends for lunch. I’m the matriarch giving my time and counsel to the young ones who are on their journey. Can’t you see, I’m all these things at once. So for god sake, please don’t call me old——call me experienced. I’m like a pair of broken in hiking boots, a little worn but comfortable and a good fit for all seasons.
Sure, I have those aches and pains that come with age. I move a little slower. I might forget a thing or two. My hair is graying and my hearing isn’t what it use to be. But inside, I swear, I feel much younger than I appear (Well, at least that’s true most days). Sometimes I sit in my chair and run all my favorite memories back like old movies being screened in a darkened theater. Yes, those were the days of my life and no one can take them from me. Life is bitter sweet, but mostly sweet. I enjoy the small things now. I enjoy sitting outside and listening to the birds, visiting with my family, slipping into a warm bed——-and of course——-having a good ole bowel movement.
If I could be young for one day I’d do some wild crazy things. I’d ride my bicycle down to the beach, peal off my clothes and go skinny dipping in that Pacific ocean. I’d have myself a slice of triple layer chocolate cake and wash it down with champagne. I’d challenge all those loudmouthed bullies to an arm wrestle. I’d beat their asses then tell them to fuck off. I’d go through the karma-sutra and try all the positions once, and the ones I liked, I’d do twice. I’d turn my speakers up to ten, then sing and dance to all my favorite songs. I’d make a point of calling everyone I love and tell them how they made my life joyful, memorable and worth living.
I’d hold your hand and look you in the eye as if I’d never have to let go or say goodbye. But life is like juggling, catching and then letting go—-catching then letting go. But there are parts of me you’re stuck with—— you’ve involuntarily inherited my funny quirks and crazy idiosyncrasy, my good parts and my not so good parts, my headstrong ways, my strong will, my soft heart, my love of a good laugh, my desire for deep late night conversations and my lust for travel and adventure. Ah, this life is such a beautiful gift——thanks for being such an important part of it.
And you see my love, through all these things I shall live on.
Progress
The August sun traces the southern horizon as the silent tree’s cast long shadows over the lazy afternoon. There’s no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. It’s too goddamn hot to be ambitious. I pull my ball-cap off and let the cool breeze tousle though my sweaty hair.
I’m hiking through the Washoe Meadow. I imagine that the path I’m on is the same one that the Washoe Tribe followed on hunting expeditions. Their ways and traditions are no longer known. I’d give anything to know the things they knew, to see the things they saw. We’ve traded our place in nature for our love of power and progress——–Progress? Huh?
The trial turns and twists through Jeffery Pines. The sweet scent of Sage permeates my body. I take the fragrant air into my lungs and it becomes a part of me——maybe this is what they mean when they say “all things are connected”. I exhale my breath. It dissipates into the pine needles and becomes absorbed into the blueness of the out stretched skies. I feel bigger than my body.
A stellar jay sits atop a Spruce Tree and loudly scolds me, a chicory scampers across my path and from a distance a coyote keeps a weary eye on me. The coyote is my spirit animal. He’s a trickster, a loner and a little bit scruffy—-but most of all he’s a willful survivor. Yeah, we are a part of one another. The trail opens up to a huge meadow displaying purple lupin and yellow scrub grasses. It’s a pretty place, a calming place. It would be nice to share this with someone, but I’ve always been my own best friend, so I’m in good company. I take my boots off and rub my toes in a patch of cool green grass. I feel the sun on my face causing me to involuntarily smile to myself. A breeze blows across the meadow, it blows across the sweat on my body, it cools me down.
February (Spoken Word Project)
A spoken word project for the month of February and my home town.
Magic
Soundtrack “Comatose” by Sierra Eagleson.
I have my fathers temper, stirring just below my skin
And then there’s my mothers compassion, lingering in the marrow of my creaking bones
I’ve made my camp in this flag tattered crossfire
It’s always been a battle of attrition
I’m forever at war with myself
It’s trench warfare, two steps forward
Two steps backwards
Where’s god in this circular calculus
Beware, history is written by the winners
For the rest of us, it’s white flags, white crosses and unmarked graves
On guard!—-Touche!
I may offer you an olive branch with a hug
Or perhaps a sucker punch to the nose
I’m a danger to myself and others
A classic case of 51-50,
I’m the static clinging to the radio station, while you’re straining to hear your favorite song
We don’t get to decide if we are born
Who’s to say when it will all come to an end
That’s fate, destiny, god’s propagative
But in between birth and death
There’s much to lose, much to gain
Refusing to choose, is choosing
There in lies the hazards of freewill
Anything is possible
Nothing is promised
Surrender to the openness
Do what inspires you
Love’s an imperfect science
It’s the art of misdirection
Sometimes you pull the rabbit out of the hat
Other times a rat……
Regardless, don’t give up on the magic…….
Abracadabra
Wasting My Life
Soundtrack “Mercury” by Ruston Kelly.
When sitting at a extra long red light, do you ever wonder if perhaps you’re wasting your life
When standing in the chips isle, struggling to choose between Doritos and Barbecue Chips, have you ever found youself questioning if maybe you’re wasting your life
When lying in bed with the snooze alarm going off for the third time do you ever conceive of the notion that you’re probably wasting your life
Have you ever sat in a crowded bar watching everyone laugh, flirt and drink and come to the conclusion that you’re possibley wasting your life
When sitting in front of your big screen watching the same commercial for the third time, have you ever pondered why you’re wasting your life
Sitting silently in a cluttered break room, have you ever decided that you’re definitely not doing what you’d like with your life
Have you ever sat on a couch in the middle of some big party filled with laughter and loud music and despise the idea of wasting your life
Have you ever traded three hours of inebriation for a tomorrow that guarantee’s a headache, sour stomach, a worn outness and once again it leaves you questioning why you’re wasting your life
Has your life ever felt like a grainy B movie with no plot, or a corny country song about a broken hearted cowboy and you find yourself humming along to the soundtrack of his wasted life
Standing in a long line at DMV waiting to renew your vehicle registration, have you ever viewed yourself from above and watched as you wasted away
Sitting on a squeaky pew in an empty church, crumpled up and praying for faith only to find that my guarding angel is refusing to circle, Jesus is busy choosing the next big lottery winner and the fucking silence of it all grows ever more deafening
Have you ever found yourself watching the news, different day, different names, but the same old bullshit and ask yourself why does everyone seems to be wasting their life away
While waiting in a huge line at Starbucks to pay an exorbitant amount of money for a fancy coffee, I suddenly become shocked by the insanity of it all
Does anyone else suffer a similar craziness to it all?????
I pump gas, pay bills, feed the cat, do laundry, shop, cook and clean, only to find myself tearing another month off my calendar
Have you ever walked into another room and forgotten what you came there for, and this is what wasting my life feels like
Amongst all the nothingness of me, I see us flying kites on a windy day and the green field smells of freshly cut grass, the blue sky stretches out to the Sierra Nevada foothills—–and your dress blows up in the wind and it makes us laugh. We let our kites go and I kiss you and it feels like I’m cutting all my strings. And for that small moment, all the nothingness of you and me no longer matters to anyone or anything……
Rants, Raves and Random Thoughts 