Saturday, January 29, 2011

The silent hour

The sounds of night this night are soft. Feathery, if you will.
There is no mist in the air, but there is word of rain coming this way soon.
It seems as though there should be some mournful saxaphone music resonating in the distance. Not too far a distance but just enough to give it that echoey, mournful glow. Notes that shine. Sometimes they hesitate, then suddenly and smoothly move on again into the soul of the night.
These are the glowtrippers. Trip on that awhile friends. It does not end there. At least that is what has been said.
Not tonight though. Everything is still. Imagine the kind of stillness that only happens when sleep is aware of it. Such is the somber feeling of this hour.
Such is the glowtripper's moment of silence.


Friday, January 28, 2011

Solitude and space

This is where I belong. Alone here in my blog. Some weird shit was playing on the radio, but I have replaced that with the sound of my box fan.
Sleep will actually come easy tonight. A rarity and I use the word night loosely. The clock says 2:00 AM.
I used to go for long walks at this time of night.
Not so long ago, really.
I will most likely take that practice up again when the weather starts becoming warm on a consistent basis.
I do like it in here.
It is private, though anyone is welcome.
I received a message earlier from a good friend. It is always good to hear from friends.
I know people in Spain, New York, California, San Miguel de Allende, Corpus Christi and of course all over the metroplex.

The bay still pops into my mind often.

I remember when a friend used to be excited about seeing a dolphin, or sometimes a hummingbird. A friend lost that.
The jellyfish were always open to whatever was on my mind. For all I know they waited for me to get there and talk to them in the wee hours.
Perhaps they had little jellyfish conversations of their own after I left. They're bound to have some sort of communication.

The bay still pops into my mind now and then.

The apartment I'm in now is very nice. I very much feel like I am at home when I walk through the door. That's the way one should feel I think. I mean when walking through their own door.
It has been almost three months since my most recent beer and I have to say that I do not miss it much. Sometimes it sounds good, just not good enough to drink.
I am unemployed and while all the time in the world is nice, I am in debt that is only sure to become deeper. When I ponder too much about such matters is when a cold frosty beer begins to sound like it would hit the spot.
Not to worry. My supply of sparkling water is doing the trick. Sort of like a liquid understudy.
This is where I belong. Softly surfing the neon waters of solitude and space.


Thursday, January 20, 2011

Hiding From the Frost

The morning begins. It's cold outside and as I glance at the frost on the window, I feel thankful to be on this side of the glass. Relaxation. No money and no job yet a twinge of euphoria.
Only just shortly after midnight.The medication taken a couple of hours ago induces itching and lethargy. There is no bay outside, but some nice trees provide privacy as well as some aesthetic appeal to the area. The trees are tall and they stay green all the time.
Perhaps a murderer lurks somewhere near. A murderer waiting for one of the train noises to give him a slight chance of killer's anonymity. The trains at night move slowly and methodically, as does the killer's mind.
There is no audible traffic. So quiet a night is it that the candle flames hiss like new born snakes. Surely the noise of a train will come soon. It has been said that a watched pot never boils. An anticipated train never arrives?
Who might the possible victim be? Male or female? Probably female. Young and a little too eager to hop into a car with a stranger.
The stranger probably wears a hat and strangler's gloves, though at the moment the function of the gloves is to stave off the bitter cold.
I wonder what might be on TV, but am slightly too lethargic to click it on and see. There was a time when one had to walk all the way across the room to turn a TV on or off, or even just to change the channel.
What color is the murderer's coat? Black maybe? Probably nothing florescent. Unless of course he has knocked out one of the railroad crewmen and taken his bright yellow vest to use as a disguise. Sometimes they work into the early morning hours.
Wait! There it is. The squealing of brakes. Metal against metal. If there was a foul deed to be done, it probably just happened. I am thankful to be on this side of the glass.


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Edgar Allan Poe

Today is the birthday of a dear old friend.

"Quoth the Raven, Nevermore."
R.I.P. Edgar Allan Poe
(1809 - 1849)

To What Remains

The darkness will give way soon
But to what remains
Is not clear in the sense
Of giving or the sense of smell
A sense of showing
Show and tell
Feel the restraint and
Feel the pain
The darkness will give way soon
But to what remains

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Hello sweeties. Yeah, I’m back again. Been awhile, huh. Much has happened over the past few months. Some of it good and some of it not so good. I would imagine that sounds like a pretty generic description for a space of time. I shall endeavor to be more consistent in the future.
I swear though that this has been a year beyond weirdness.
We are talking of wild alcohol withdrawal, a surprise divorce, a little time in the psychiatric ward, giving up the bottle and actually meeting some good friends from a very unlikely group of candidates.
That's not to mention a close family member hanging in ICU for a few weeks, then making splendid progress with regard to recovery.
Existence and what to make of it.
Oh man. I actually broke down and joined the uncharted waters of Facebook this morning. Jesus! I swear I had no idea that I know so many people. Weird. Interesting. I fear I may not be quite sociable enough to do the site justice. Only one way to find out.
Really. What a year it has been. Tragic? Depends upon one’s perspective. Unexpected joy and gratitude? No question about it. Illness and recovery. Light the candles to a higher power and burn the incense for good measure. Flashing skeletons and a cup of coffee and all within the cozy warmth of my truly neato apartment.
Simplicity. I smile.
Some more You Tube? Have not given it a whole lotta thought. A couple of good people have asked about those old posts. Just have to see.
It is cold outside. A beautiful night and perhaps tomorrow will follow suite.
Thinking thoughts, dancing dancers and noodling noodles. That’s the way the good earth spins things.
Why should it be any other way?