the arc of a cormorant

i saw more than four cormorants flying through the air
while sitting on a cliffside near the ocean the other day,
watched them swoop down in a giant curving descent
and then glide eversoclose to the waterline
till they were out of sight.

the sky was big that day, the sun bright.

say, what's the difference between a sun roof
and a moon roof? the difference between
the sun and moon, i suppose.

and what is that? no one can say
with anything approaching absolute authority.

so much is mysterious, unsussable, like when
a curious and not-unique thought occurred to me
while i was watching the film Little Children.

that is, that there is very little in life that is
all that curious anymore. life just is as it is,
for everyone, always.

and that is what's so curious about it,
that everyone else's everpresent mystery
is all that there is that
is all that interesting.

just this, the drama of another reality,
and how we can shape our love for it into song.

hey, i told you it wasn't a unique thought.
and anyway, it's probably wrong.



LII, from 1 X 1 [One Times One]

life is more true than reason will deceive
(more secret or than madness did reveal)
deeper is life than lose: higher than have
- but beauty is more each than living's all

multiplied with infinity sans if
the mightiest meditations of mankind
cancelled are by one merely opening leaf
(beyond whose nearness there is no beyond)

or does some littler bird than eyes can learn
look up to silence and completely sing?
futures are obsolete; pasts are unborn
(here less than nothing's more than everything)

death, as men call him, ends what they call men
- but beauty is more now than dying's when


don't stop bereavin'

so that was how it ended. that. was how. it ended.

don't stop believin'.

i don't know what that means. but right on for the darkness, know what i mean?

my friend Jme says she doesn't like this blog as much as she liked the old one. she says she can't relate to anything here any more, and how come i don't post as often and not as much prose.

well, maybe she can relate to this!

oh, right. you can't see that. i just raised my middle finger and wagged it in front of the screen. i did. i know it's unlikely that you'll bereave this, so you'll just have to trust me.

question: what's the difference between a frog?

answer: one leg's both the same.

that joke, ladies and gentlemen and Jme, is courtesy of Mr. Bobby Weir.

what should i have for lunch/dinner/dessert? this is the eternal question. none of that other stuff about the soul or the cosmos or reality or divinity. just: what will go in my belly soon.

you know what makes a book really good? when you can read it aloud and it sounds more vivid, more deep and true. when it somehow sounds more real, more real than the silent ideation. when it sounds like the sound of consciousness -- but loud.

when it sounds like awakening.

hey, my computer's broke and i need a job. such is life.



running the numbers

Plastic Bags
Plastic Bags, 2007. Depicts 60,000 plastic bags, the number used in the US every five seconds.

"This new series looks at contemporary American culture through the austere lens of statistics. Each image portrays a specific quantity of something: fifteen million sheets of office paper (five minutes of paper use); 106,000 aluminum cans (thirty seconds of can consumption) and so on. My hope is that images representing these quantities might have a different effect than the raw numbers alone, such as we find daily in articles and books."


thoughts from the edge of the continent

the blinds are elevated slightly on one side
even all the way up besides that

too lazy to do anything about it
too lazy to dream
about what to do
with my life

there’s this Buddha that is carved slightly slanted
he still looks as regal and peaceful as fuck
a hawk perched high in the tree
above his head
above his serene head

serene as fuck

just taking the time to look around a little bit
listen to a tune or two

especially a band called Lotus these days
I listen to that and look around
wondering what is up with everything
why everything isn’t just

maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the edge of the continent
and stare at the sea for awhile

stare at the sea
and listen to Lotus
and then drive back home