"picture this" he says.
his music by default, brings out sadness in me
but there is a way in the night when strength is in the air, to convert the energy required for heartache into passion and joy - i can't do that with all music but this one is particularly magical

one more concept and i'm away from this place

finally, the bittersweet glances at the past year are coagulating to become a solid view of the here and the now - a better perspective of what we have, a n enhanced view of my situation, something with a real effect - not only wishing this or that and the brilliant opportunity that is to look ahead to the future.

amen.

     

the mEp

august 29th 1998

can we dream of a world where no one is there-
where the wind is the trees and the breeze has no hair

are we visions ourselves is this lovely we see
all are we all here together, is this all we can be

when the words that we know are the ones that we use and the sentances placed can't be all that we choose

when we know more what's wrong than what's right then it seems
when i look in my heart all i see are my dreams.

august 28h 1998

oh what a beautiful morning...

more of this august summer fills me with nostalgia and sorrow-

wishing i could capture the air and keep it as still as it is,

forever. the poplar's highest leaves twinkle in the early sun

the maples, side by each losing their three-Dness only with

each passerby. no one knows but you - yes, no one knows

how i cannot really even stop and think about what days like

these remind me of - there's a pressure cooker hiding the past,

as if lost inside me were scars of abuse; it may be a horrid

analogy and i apologize for that, but hiding inside me are

those sunny sunny days. i can still taste the mud pies under the

smiley's cherry tree, practically remembering the paths we
drove with the tonka toys - yellow plastic, they were. yes i can smell it alright

and no one needs scorsinzki or speilberg to do that. you just need yourself

if you can. if you can look out the window and see the past-wrapped up in

a ball of august 28th, splintered with life's trials and nails,

no i do not accept it - the time that comes between now and then,

all time that is meaningless in perspective; moments which have little

weight in my heart. impressions old are the deepest, the most profound.

before pre-judice; before experience; before 'life as we know it' and

zippidy doo dah too.

nothing can or will ever change that.

and i am not an unhappy person, just a very alive one

scarred by the past

i've decided to be healthy instead, and so my freedom will have to suffer. for now.

bancha hot; Gardenia wet; being awake; not yet.

just rush out and do it; wait another day; moments can't be captured

how to phrase our own unique perspectives. boxes still behind me reminders of movement;

am i ever completely centered
only for fractions, seconds,
is this what i should seek,
i don't even know.

we want to hear what is certain dollars and cents are; confirm the weather;
and also the plot of a television show

the number of pixels on my screen;
taking me away from other certainties
dreaming beds of mountains

i'm forcing a settling
forcing the thoughts
let's be free-er creative
i'm not dancing now
but i'm not exactly crying

august 21th 1998

rain showers
wash me clean,
take this salete
my demise
which is everything i know
to be true
and every concept i think i believe
take the rotting strings
holding my beliefs together

and rinse them of the lies
i use to validate it all

tie it up in a clean satin ribbon
and place it just there,
in the moldy box with the others.

i'll sit and stare at it
some more;
thinking about why i've kept it
and the others, too.
and who i thought would be the person looking back at it
and how to bridge the gap
between the two
or just go ahead and cross the bridge already.

all you have to do is behave nicely - it causes the circle to spin.

smile at love

.

.

.

.

august 18th 1998

monkeys floor-bound and groceries in
the fridge. i would guess that chest-
freezer sales should be down. hardly
anyone in the grocery store with filled baskets. it's a mystery what they buy,
and why. one side of my brain completely understands the programming - yet the other side doesn't quite get the reality of it. total miscomprehention.

life hands me funny turns - which are hard to accept when you think you're in control. now, really now, how did i get here? is this my life and my beautiful wife? half of me says this is the perfectly logical conclusion and the other half watches that half thinking, because it doesn't have a clue anymore. but it's happy that the other half seems ok with it.

dreaming perfectly pleasant neutralized dreams of trying to match a rustish red and green long skirt when i found a tiny stripe of pink along the waist. my mother was worried it wouldn't match with anything (she didn't like it) but i was determined.

ah, the cool dreams of brain-settling automnn emerging.

that's all you really need.

.

.

.

.

.

august 15th 1998

The Roadside Fire

Robert Louis Stevenson

I will make you brooches and toys for your delight,
Of birdsong at morning and starshine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me,
Of green days in forests, and blue days at sea.

I will make my kitchen,
and you shall keep your room,
Where white flows the river
and bright blows the broom;
And you shall wash your linen,
and keep your body white
In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.

And this shall be for music when no one else is near, The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear! That only I remember,
that only you admire,
Of the broad road that stretches
and the roadside fire.

pleasantly peace.
washed out insides in spite of last night's storm.
i love this feeling of stabilization.
i can reach out now
speak strong words

wipe the monitor
put the dishes away
focus.
each note moving me
closer.

messy things still in my head;
but sorted in my heart.


---

august 12th 1998

---

whose birthday today,
more people who've gone away
a woman young at spirit
and old of love.


i am surrounded now, they are every which way i turn. could they actually love me, when i do not always behave as if they are loved.

and me, what about me. i like flowers but i'd never define myself that way. who am i.
i can never really be sure.
i embrace most of the
wrong perspectives,
swallowing up whatever
acclaim come comes my way.

thriving on acclaim, yes,
but not trapped. you must
always remember this.

freedom comes quickly
if you are lucky,
and luckier still
if you can hold on to it.

now, the cool parts of august
reign. neighbors will be
more energetic.

these are surface words
yet still reflect a core.
productivity is so very
crucial.

what's in your core,
who are you trying to be,
what are you afraid of,
but yes of course we all
have valid fears.

there's got to be a morning after.




---



august 5th 1998

---

murphy's law prevails.but you will say, Ramona and Roswell have been home for some time. yes this is true, but in another sense, they are always coming home, leaving, and coming again. we must watch them to know our true desires. guaging, defining, it's nice to have shallow water over the edge.they remind us that the deepest part is inside ourselves. what is the worst to be afraid of?

but things seem so definate, so often, when that is never the case.

guess what, the planet seems to finally have reacted as if there's not enough time. it has taught me that i cannot sit by a lake, or accept no plans, and this is wrong.

this will change.

so the bancha has warmed my belly and soul, my head still spins somewhat. busy day ahead; busier days still. away from here, a murphiesm- it's not the right time to go. and people say it every day.

singing in families, we still do it and it is wondrous, maybe my favorite thing. any song of yore in the plain octave above middle C, we can manage together - we three, with her to balance my rougher voice and he to improvise as we go.

that sun still creeps over the trees, still there. be still, poots heart. your time will come-as it is now, and always will be. allow the flow of what is liquid and recognize what is not. they sometimes mean what they say but sometimes they do not. allow this to be.

tomorrow never comes.

center. focus.

it's amazing how long it takes to reset my center, each time we remove it from stable. three months i would say, for each gear to be set back in place. we don't know how they know where to be rest, but i suppose that is why it takes the time it does. i'm still waiting for the second learning to occur, for now it still feels like a strugggle.

sometimes i'm reminded of what bill told me, spending too much time thinking about me, yet i know he does the same. but much of what people tell me indicates that i should spend more time on others. i know i should. perhaps not those directly surrounding me, but others, somewhere, whom i do not know.i know this to be true. i know i should find them. i know i'm wasting too much time. where are those others, someone tell me. i'll sit and i'll center and wait.

"i know i need to be in love
i know i've wasted too much time
i know i ask perfection from a quite imperfect world
and fool enough to think that's what i'll find"

-r.carpenter(?)

august 1st 1998

i have a new neighbor.
she's a pink plant.
she knows things
that i know i can't.

happy august
beautiful nite


index

we learn we live
i never thought of my social nature as something which would have ever been so noticed
i suppose that is it's essence
struggling now but winning
with some aspects of myself
it's not total peace
but it's strong.

august 20th 1998

"i want to hold you now
and listen to you breathe
it's like the ocean sound
whispering through the trees
in the hollow of your shoulder
there's a tidepool of my tears
where the waves came crashing over
and the shoreline disappears

we hold it all for a litte while don't we...
kiss the dice, taste the rain
like little knives upon our tongue
we can do no wrong
when the lights go on
and the music plays
and we take the stage
like we own the place
as if time were cheap
and the night forever young

ooo ooo ooo oo oooooooo"

-b.n.chapman

shades are drawn.
struggles continue - some outward, most inside.
how happy are we, our health the greatest gift but let's not shout it out loud.

arch the back of the littlest poot; she bites her lip and focuses on what's inside.

a calmness comes like the undulating waves -
slowly, surely, the water returns on shore. what project in life next with this water? one dream is gone, the corner place with homey food. how real are their dreams? and motivated by what form of passion? i cringe at the chance gone by as another wave takes over my view.

that is what is inside, the rest merely icing in my brain.

i feel little urge to move. scant desire to walk.
for what, should i overide this

for everything.

.

.

.

.

.

august 17th 1998

yawning this morning, a glance out the window tells me yes poots, it is still summer! this endless summer of ours, strung together by a hazy stint in another city to the far south.

and now as sirens encicle me,
i stare at the little cardboard calander; a small one, bound by wire, after waking from a long dreamy trance - why were those cheesys frameworked in allumium?
where was i all night?

let's pray for this week.

let's not talk about tv today.

i don't sound as opinionated as i used to, and you know what? i'm not. just a little bit of that Orwell effect and i'm just tryin' to survive.

my left wrist tells me i slept very very soundly. ow. i knew i would.

i should stretch.

call donna.

august 14th 1998

"not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection My compass, faith in love's perfection, I missed ten million miles of road i should have seen"
-e.saliers

awaking to today, no choice
but to straighten my back
and listen
listen

to my own voice.

but i love my voice.

and the busy circles
that are the workday for me
now pleasantly integrating
into my life.
there's more direction.
fewer circles.
more smiles

and when asked
i say 'good' things are good.

keeping my poking stick
nearby, closely treading
toward gardens, family,
friends. where are my spiritual needs - well in
all of this of course.

sometimes, you just have

t o stand up for what you believe in.

straighten your back again, little one.

s t r e t c h

dreaming of my little
restaurant which someone might want to make a song about one day, it's on the corner there -
in that small cozy place where people come and smile, or listen to the cook singing

"and we sit here in our storms and drink a toast to the slim chance of love's recovery rain soaked and voice choked like silent screaming in a dream
i search for our absolute distinction
not content to bow and bend To the whims of culture that swoop like vultures
eating us away,
eating us away
Eating us away to our extinction
Oh how i wish i were a trinity
so if i lost a part o fme
i'd still have two of the same to live, But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal,
as spects of dust we're universal, To let this love survive would be the greatest gift that we could give

Tell all the friends who think they're so together
that these are ghosts and horizons, these thoughts of fairer weather Though it's stormy out I feel safe within the arms of love's discovery"

august 11th

---

swirling around remnants of a recent full moon, things come together as they come apart.
movement and people coming back into my life. as i stabilize, their issues are served to me on platters, and i wonder which utensils to use first.

and once again, my life goals, directions realign themselves although i cannot remember when they were the same, i know they were.

how many times do i have to relearn this?

i'm reminded of the freckle-faced engineer from prud'homme street. did i think it would take 12 years for me to call myself vegetarian.how many
lessons did i learn then?

i'm staring blankly as i chew my lip.
we bought this computer table before we knew what we know now.

lullabies







august 4th 1998

---

yes indeed they have.
back in baby's arms again.
the feet slightly more grounded,
a little firmer griphold on today, and tomorrow-
but wait! tomorrow never comes,
and today is never over.

i'd like to say some clearer thoughts

i'd like to shake your hand,
i'd ask you what are your dreams
because working dreams have disappeared
along with the weeds...

the photos will be organized,
in a large red album for all to see
along with all the stuff,
which i hardly am ashamed of.
the dinner, the fourth annual,
will be planned. friends will arrive
and our home will be cleaner.

the mEp gets some color,
someone celebrates a birthday,
and more plants live here now.

things are found, one by each
cut flowers which make a house a home
and discussions, more logical about
what is going on.