cold wet socks by the front door

December, the cold immersion of skin into snow. The walking of feet through crunching snows icy grip. The embrace of the warm house as you open that front door. The slow covering of greens and reds and browns with the pale shawl of winters frozen stare. The symbolic death, that harbors the forever vibrant falsetto of future births. The month of my daughter's birth. Tomorrow she will be 7 years old. Beauty is not noticed until you see a toothless little girl now grown tall, offer you her reasoning for her stategies for how to play a game of hangman or until you see her dancing around with blue frosting on her lip as she demonstrates some childhood excitement, or until you see her xmas list for tow wacky tackys (two walkie talkies:) tow more books, elmores glue, and tow t shirts, and a baby born doll. Simplicity and joy. Pride is her telling of how she won a prize for her reading at school. Pride is having her share her stories or listen to her sing her songs of flowers, ice cream, and peaches that she has written at various times. Pride is remembering how she would put bread and milk outside when she was younger so to "feed the ladybugs". It is the request for me to sing her goodnight song. It is the hugs she never forgets to share. It is the little smile that keeps on growing. It is a heart that is allowed to watch another heart grow.

dangling from the highwire as the crumbs of abundance fall like droplets unattended

Autumn is here. I am here. My mind however, is out there tumbling with the leaves on the slowly hardening street. Entangled in the grass as the loose bits slowly decompose. I am composing on the the topic of decomposition. As i rode the streets of Rochester last night listening to The Colorblind James Experience's beautifully majestic first album, i went back to those places that have slowly decomposed or mutated; jazzberry's or the rabbit hole or some vague and hazy corner of the cornhill area and richmond's, though still there, is different.
All this life, all this time, all these people, past/present/future wandering in the labyrinth singing in the rain, smiles to light our way despite the intermittant pain, and it's beautiful in its' chaos, it's majestic as my front lawn tangles and decomposes, and i won't rake it. A work of art. And now, as CVB's song abundance plays with my mind, fingering the spines of books on shelves momentarily unattended, remembering thoughts, remembering prayers, mantras, desires, and the sun outside is calling me, so i must tumble, from this chair, floating like a droplet, a crumb escaping the act of gratitude, in freefall, i smile as i follow the flow of this unbelievable day. This vast expanse, of life, this vast expanse of mind as it attempts to uncurl it's possessing fingers.....

dancing dust

Like sunlight
illuminating those pulsing bits of dust
in descent
And did i mention, that it usually occurs on weekends when things
seem out of place.
All the world's actions
endless variations
red light green light regulations...
that give time a backbone
that give desire a curfew
and sometimes when wonder chews on anarchy's skull and questions
the mangled marrow- the deviant obstructionism- of democracy's long lost dream...
Sometimes we have to question the work of these earthly hands
sometimes we need to question
yea, sometimes we need to question the works of us humans
Intentions don't always prove compatible with our needs
Actions are not always
computational relatives
of our brains relative size.
Sometimes we need to question the work of these earthly hands
Sometimes we need to take a stand
when dna strands begin strangling
the future
confused with our present demands
i want, i want, and i want it nowwww.
That is until tomorrow tells me differently.
That is until i calm the beast with invisible bones.
Yea, sometimes we need to take a stand for something we believe in.
all the things we're deceived in,
such as "Why do people go to war and kill people in order to "teach" them that killing is wrong?"
Yea, sometimes we have to question these earthly hands.
Yea, sometimes we need to take a stand.
But in the mean time
let's all bow our heads and pray
to our father
of
charred
logic.

a proliferation of gods

For me, god is ever changing and forever sought. The elusive object of alchemy’s misplaced dreams and the psychological phenomenon of emotional relativities as they mix with the desire to control one’s environment and explain all these random acts of joy and pain. Yet these intermittent bouts of chaos and order can be appreciated, even as we acquiesce to it or act against it. From rock, to river, to soil dissolving in the muck between our toes it forever washes all around us. So, what is god but a tumultuous issue of will as it acknowledges the mysteries of creation? No matter how we categorize it or rationalize it we are creatures fascinated and confused by our will.
It seems that whatever my explanation, the underlying issue seems to be one in which I must consider how my actions act as some type of foundation for those that come after. My god is not a river that can be dammed, it is a flow that eludes such opposition. To some god is a force that damns, but to me it is loves unfolding exhibition. It is what we can do to birth the inevitable joys and pains from our eternal quest for honesty. The attempt to balance the selfish being with the altruistic being as they navigate amongst the millions of other factions and fractions that coexist within me. And that metaphor travels still to fill this world with others that are bouncing around with their own philosophies of mental pinballs interacting and influencing and participating in love, and war, and peace. And my quest for balance, even if it is only a psychological fantasy , is something that I feel should be acted towards. Our gods exist only in our attempt to reach for those things we believe in, without being deceived in, why we choose or fail to choose such actions.