Nov 2015
Real work, whether of mind or body. Real work isn't a job or an occupation. It is any effort that occurs when what you know and what you do converge with who you really are.
Mammalian warmth: the touch of human bodies in all it's wonder and pleasure that reminds me of Nietzsche's saying, "First, be a healthy animal."
A cat's purr. It's existence requires no justification; it is complete in itself.
Blueberries, the plants and the fruit. A feast for every sense.
Books, movies, and works of art that are so compelling they take you on a vacation from reality by creating their own more vivid reality.
My white, 1997 Saturn with 245,000 miles on it. A gift from an angel, I call her Moby and together we sail the asphalt seas. She's a real lady.
Birds. They fill the world with color and music and desire no profit in return.
A lovely woman with bare legs in a sun dress. As Wallace Stevens said, "Beauty is momentary in the mind, the fitful tracing of a portal, but in the flesh it is immortal."
The electric charge of lips touching lips, of flesh brushing flesh.
Anything, on a woman, that is made of silk. Silk is exquisite, elegant and ******.
Weeds that flower, because their beauty is unexpected.
Evan Williams bourbon. Exquisite distilled ****** that burns and satisfies.
Cool evenings after hot days.
Conversation that sparkles with intelligence, wit and conviviality.
Warren Zevon, Thelonious Monk and Mozart, not necessarily in that order.
True friends. When the chips are down, they are a treasure more valuable than even family.
The magical, healing sound of flowing water.
Trees, especially the deciduous. Their greenness speaks to and cools my spirit.
Writing and reading poetry, my craft and my solace.
Love. It is elusive and difficult and perhaps impossible, but the belief that it may be out there sustains even the jaded, aging life.
The fecundity of the unexpected.
Fireflies. Almost too much beauty for one world.
Sunrises, because they bring the undeserved possibility of another shot at redemption.
Garlic, the spice of the gods.
And on and on...
- mce
Mammalian warmth: the touch of human bodies in all it's wonder and pleasure that reminds me of Nietzsche's saying, "First, be a healthy animal."
A cat's purr. It's existence requires no justification; it is complete in itself.
Blueberries, the plants and the fruit. A feast for every sense.
Books, movies, and works of art that are so compelling they take you on a vacation from reality by creating their own more vivid reality.
My white, 1997 Saturn with 245,000 miles on it. A gift from an angel, I call her Moby and together we sail the asphalt seas. She's a real lady.
Birds. They fill the world with color and music and desire no profit in return.
A lovely woman with bare legs in a sun dress. As Wallace Stevens said, "Beauty is momentary in the mind, the fitful tracing of a portal, but in the flesh it is immortal."
The electric charge of lips touching lips, of flesh brushing flesh.
Anything, on a woman, that is made of silk. Silk is exquisite, elegant and ******.
Weeds that flower, because their beauty is unexpected.
Evan Williams bourbon. Exquisite distilled ****** that burns and satisfies.
Cool evenings after hot days.
Conversation that sparkles with intelligence, wit and conviviality.
Warren Zevon, Thelonious Monk and Mozart, not necessarily in that order.
True friends. When the chips are down, they are a treasure more valuable than even family.
The magical, healing sound of flowing water.
Trees, especially the deciduous. Their greenness speaks to and cools my spirit.
Writing and reading poetry, my craft and my solace.
Love. It is elusive and difficult and perhaps impossible, but the belief that it may be out there sustains even the jaded, aging life.
The fecundity of the unexpected.
Fireflies. Almost too much beauty for one world.
Sunrises, because they bring the undeserved possibility of another shot at redemption.
Garlic, the spice of the gods.
And on and on...
- mce
(Mechanicsburg, PA)
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