SUPPLIES

i was fond of a joke back in the 6th grade. it went something like, a foreman at a construction site had assigned three different people jobs. the african man was set to do the architecture. the hispanic man was all set to do the decorations. the asian man was set to provide the supplies. well, on the day of the big meeting to begin construction, the foreman came out and asked each man if they had their items in order. the african man said, yes, architecture all set. the hispanic man says, yes, decorations all in order. but, no where to be found is the asian man. the foreman yells out, where is this guy?

then out of nowhere, the asian man jumps out and yells, "supplies!"

anyway. point of that joke is to say that surprises are quite pleasant. in the case of the foreman, probably not as pleasant. but i think the moral of that joke is that it is good to enjoy the surprises in life. the butterfly you see randomly walking home. the child getting licked by a dog on the street. a man on stilts with an umbrella dancing to frank sinatra. all those moments that you didn't expect and couldn't have planned for make life what life is, invests us with energy and spirit. so it's good to focus on those times. and they can be incredibly simple, like the pleasant surprise of a warm sunny day, or something magnificently fated, as an instantaneous entwining of two bodies filled with the ecstasy of being young and wide eyed and alive.

RIPPLES

obviously there are numerous interests which have melded together to form a composite of craziness in me, but one big one is the fact that everyone around me is experiencing so much life i can't help but receive some of that residual. it's just explosions exploding into each other. the violence of a ripple hitting another ripple in a giant pond, or the ocean. there is some kind of intense energy you get from nature, but people, too. they are like nature. if a beautiful woman walks in the room, it lights up. if your friends are in some kinds of crazy zones, it affects you. it's crazy, yo.

OLD TO BEGIN

is another way of saying "i was so much older then, i'm younger than that now." and it's true. life as i know it reversed, and like benjamin button, i am slowly returning to a certain wide-eyed state. a certain joy in every new thing that appears in front of me. a certain desire to clutch onto anything that has meaning, and a certain delight in everything because everything has meaning.

there is also love. also friendship. also the naiveness of the midnight hour, drunk. all that and the difficulty of understanding certain things, to act upon emotion, or to do precisely that and regret it. or perhaps the terrifying truth that we don't know anything about what is to come. and there is also innocence, and the feeling of being loved, and giving love, which all has not much to do with the making of love. and the unsettling recognition that love can't be made out of nothing, but requires both people to be nothing.

although i write and it comes out perhaps articulate and with some semblance of art and emotion it does not give me as much joy as i thought it would. there is a song which says that 'all is lost if it's not heard.' since i do not want all of this feeling to be lost i will write it even though it is not all of it. it's better to have some of all rather than lose it all.

i like to say lately that i can see stars exploding in other galaxies. or that i can hear the beat of wings of a single bird flying incredibly high in the sky with a group of other geese coming back north for the spring. or that i can smell the specific hibiscus in a low plain next to a cactus outside mexico city. and i can feel the cool ocean waves of the atlantic brush against my feet and soak the bottoms of my jeans. and i hear the voices and melodies of friends and the plucks of strings by calloused tips of fingers.

all that is true because lately i have not been able to write. nothing comes out or if it does it does not suffice. it just means that i have been living a lot of life and have no time to choose the right words. and words are too important to not choose correctly.

but what else can i do, tonight, when life is unbearably lifey and it takes over me. then it's not really me who writes just the moment itself. what else is there to do when eyes though shut don't stop seeing. when i have dreamt so many dreams in the hours i am awake, i am afraid to sleep else be overwhelmed by more dreams. when a cloudy sky with a full white moon beckons for one more cigarette and a few crisp moments to brood among the traffic hum of the city.

it is nearly impossible to sleep with the knowledge of spring, and so many beginnings. that all this life is around me and so much is almost born, being born, is born-again. and then to think of it all also reminds me that something, so many things, have ended.

oh, yes, so many ends and beginnings. beginnings and ends.

and here i am; to not lose it all; to end and begin.

GRACEFULLY

okay hush now it is okay i
am certain of it as certain
of it as i know i love that
song and as certain of it as
i know that a long time ago
even through a similar snow
we delivered letters by pony
and wrote in rhyme and took
the time to stop and pause
in the mid-day sun in a field

and oh yes love we may kick
cans in the parking lot throw
apples with spots at neon
signs or dirty our trousers scrape
our knees climb trees hit some
baseballs and hide a bit in the
dark in the cricket sounds
just enough to still be found

but now it is time to go back
inside and flip on the lights
and be man and wife and turn
off the television and make big
decisions and begrudge and bemoan
be old and alone forget to know
that oh yes babe it is all okay
its all okay babe i know its okay

AFTER ALL

woke up this morning in a funk, half drunk. took a shower and made a pot of coffee. smoked a jazz cigarette, and a cigarette. listened to moscow: i know it's strange to think of you when reading about someone so confused, but i can barely keep my phone away. woke with much worry about dates and trips, bills and my will to do what i must do. walked out into a unexpectedly warm sunny day, a strong pleasing breeze blowing my hair and scarf playfully. then, suddenly, instantaneously, realize the truth: no need to worry. no need when i write. no need when i play music with ancient friends. no need when blown away by peers. no need when prospects, simple ones, the prophesy of hands to be held, cheeks to be kissed, parents to meet, quiet nights under dim lights speaking the same language to be shared, are thought of at work in a dim corner of the office with headphones in listening to jdutt, again, thinking of all this stuff, these things: just like with them we've parted ways, we've set those bridges all ablaze, but i still think we're the only sane ones left.

MOSCOW

time for this, time for that. time to kiss, now that the date is over. time to open doors for people coming up behind. time to get coffee, i am sleepy. time to go home and cry in the dark with a candle lit and the window open even though it is 10 degrees outside and a light snow keeps bears hibernating. time for shots, so we can get drunk. time for a cig and a jig with a jug band and bottle of wine. time to get my act together and write this paper. time to celebrate, paper is done. time for hugs and cheek kisses for my little beautiful perfect niece. time to dream and toss in blankets and wake up and sigh and go back to sleep. time for church to singalong and be forgiven of what you've done wrong. time oh time for no thought of time to not care what time to not worry what time to not give a shit what time; time to pretend we have all the time in the world.

LANDSLIDE

you are good people. i like you. i think that when we get together and talk it is very nice. i am very drunk, very stoned, very tired, very filled with life, very sentimental, very sensitive, very sleepy and waiting to dream and take off my socks and feel cotton all on my skin. it has been a good night and i enjoy all of your company. i enjoy playing music with you. helps me remember. remember that time is not real; that once we start a song it is over in a second. and that cigarettes in fifteen degree wind chills pushes me and gives me the will to be happy with the circumstances that i have been put in. because babies are fantastic creatures and we were all one of them back in the day. and working at 7-11 til early morning is not too bad after a night of growing up and being babies again. and waiting to hear about some important decision that will most definitely affect your life is not so bad after a night of laughs and smiles and visions of people you will toast at a wedding some day. and the waiting for all this to happen: for all the joys and pains of future times; for all the late nights with your child in a room with soft wave sounds and ducks on the wallpaper; for all the fantastic court cases we will argue, and all the awkward teenagers we will teach and change, all the peoples bodies we will delve into and fix and cure; for all the moments that we will inhale a crystal clear winter breath and feel at peace; for all those moments we wait and wait but when it comes it will be very happening, very happy, very much like the moment i am in right now, when i postpone warm blankets and comfy beds and breezes from a dust covered fan and the play of sleep, when i like to write instead of dream. you are good people. i miss you and wish you well and will talk to you, and see you, soon, under the black light, under another harvest moon.