#musing
I wish I knew what it was like to be arrogant.
To walk in a room and just...
expect.
I don't want to be an ****
It's not that part that appeals to me.
It's more that I'm drawn to
Not wearing
The layers of anxiety like a wool coat in summer
Sweating out the potential of what my life
Could, be...
Sweat free.
To speak to a stranger,
Hi, you alright?
On a comfortable level
No playing games on a field.
Free from agenda, just easy going
Request, require, receive.
Being myself, for myself.
No drama.
It's not even confidence,
I don't think.
I can do the fake small talk and hide the scary mask
But it feels
Layered. Theatrical. Performative.
If you have that air of one who expects it seems so easy.
Of course you'll do it, I asked you to.
Without a question or doubt,
Of course mate I'll sort that for you, it's not the way we do it
But I'll sort you out old boy don't you worry.
Seems so simple, to be so smooth
No hint of query or backchat
An if but or maybe not escaping your lips.
I asked you to.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 4:39 AM UTC
Mien, in my face, meaning crisis recognosis, ready
writer pen of ancient inspired stores of shown knowns,
make believe the king is only chosen by the signs,
birds and shells and livers and spots, by such signs,
do those opposers to Micaiah's plain vision, literal letters
activate ciphers sorting times first and last chance at once
written on subway walls and tenement halls, seen on TV.
Naked City, three million stories, this is one of those,
resistance to tyranny is obedience to the spirit haunting
Thomas Jefferson to the day he died, sorrowing in debt,
Hemming and hawing calling gee, get on boy, go now…
Go tell about the home of the brave free and us
condensed from the reader's digest version, facts
dragnets revealed we ruined the cod fishery forever, eh
we were notified we should read that book, but too late,
that book, Cod, George Bush was reading that, back when
republican presidents read books about industrial devastation.
Now, see that replica triumphal arche, that's a hang up
from way back, a values setting where one thinks I am
as I make up my own militarily purpose driven life, success,
as defined in boomer boys with filthy rich political roots,
who has licensed the wind, laughing?
I can hear my neighbor's dog, were I true pioneer stock,
that would notify me my duty is to head west, move on out.
And, about where my branch came to notice tree pairings
strange and familiar, as my traveling granted me memories
of places where one can see for miles and miles and miles,
just wondering without denying Earth, as a living thing,
long did without any help from me, so I am game,
What, me worry, we live until we die, then we know or we don't.
That ain't no shame, greedy people die ashamed is all, then death,
and memory until all the backward dealing taking advantage is over
and no shame retains claim on things I could have said, a way
to show, peace makes truth work on points too fine to see,
feeling we offer sound mind, solid state, wait and see while waiting,
in the universe with gravity and light, goodness ignores never,
ever always nullifys never gonna happen, until it did and now
we get the SYTF Jesus honest answer, the way time works,
is we be in it until we cannot find a place where we belong,
and we vanish, anasazi hohokam even the idea of us is wind.
The example to the kids with brawler genes but little fists, a flaw
evident in the psychocybernetic underpinnings of a limited vision.
Reflecting pool calls up the rush from the Ice Rink, in Central Park.
Real Estate planning calls for monumental empirical spectacle.
Real statecraft calling all conscious contributors, allies and friends.
Melchizedekian ties to pearls found in swine turds tails, and fisher's
mouths promising one wish for one more chance to ignore reality.
Points being where two of our mind cross wires and engage at
tensity pulling in or putting out mindfull with knowledge absense
the hated vacuum, what's behind the green door, what happens
in the spooky Richard Speck seeing the Texas Tower Shooter,
and talking with Dennis Conti just a day or so, before
they arrested him and took him to testify for his part
in what happened in real time, 16 MAR 1969 as attested
Learning what happened, maybe 40 years later, for me,
longer maybe, happened to meet a gunner from First Cav,
living like a hermit on a mountain in sight of his only son's
only child, a true treasure once witnessed, as known, son's
children are special children, each one of a kind, no never mind,
finger prints are infallible testimony to what minds must calculate,
each time a series of successful breaths and feedings and fevers
becoming the eye see you peek-a-boo cooing sparkling infant,
lacking any words, seeing being seen and cooing sparking sign
default mode monk mind making time worth taking as mine or idle.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 3:29 PM UTC
Someone called this forest
'Charmless Dross'.
Planted in the 30's, it isn't even real
As though living, breathing woodland
Counts for nought.
It was strange.
Do we only count a single moment in time
As legitimate?
If time is an ever running thing,
Trapped on the treadmill
With no PT to say
'That's really quite enough for today'
Then who are we to judge?
The ecology is weak, they said
It's no positive at all
The sparse desert between these
Fake
Pine trees.
I think the birds disagree.
If children's laughter is charmless
And family day out's are dross,
Then close every theatre in Britain
Shut down the stadiums
Run down the race tracks
There's nothing to see
Here.
Good can be the enemy of great.
We don't need it anyway.
Back to your phones.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 7:22 AM UTC
My deepest fear is to live a life where I don't know the answer
to the question of 'what if?'
Ironic, given I already have so many.
What if I'd stuck it out at work?
The drive to persistently progress might have led me somewhere.
The greasy pole doesn't stain your clothes if you wash them quickly.
I could have made the team leader, been the big cheese
More than just that 'one to watch'.
Perhaps.
What if I'd never stopped to ask?
We might have driven home.
Gone back to our lives as awkward friends
Not daring close the distance,
A kindling dampened before life's oxygen reached the spark.
We broke up in the end, anyway.
What if I'd never said no?
Who knows where that stranger wanted to lead us.
His friends lurked in shadows like a promise unfulfilled.
Maybe that one was a wise call.
There's always someone else to phone up for such things.
What if I said yes when the opportunity knocked first?
To that job, to that date, to that meeting.
Not closing the call off when it scared me and I didn't know.
I yearn for the safety of hindsight whilst not living my life in forward motion.
Press play for me.
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 2:37 PM UTC
There's no peace to be found in the middle of a party,
you don't want to be at.
The strawberry laced chemical fog of vape chokes the air,
Overpowering the familiar fragrance of spilled lager and drunken tales.
The shot girl pushes her tray toward me. I don't want one.
The television screen is brighter than the future facing many in here,
The debt piling up in cost of living crisis Britain
As the three in one pay day plans come knocking
and the car insurance rises yet again.
You really ought to look both ways when you pull out.
Brawls break out, one two three
A mosh of angst and teenage delirium
Still trapped in the bodies of middle aged men
That never got to the nirvana of being comfortable with themselves.
That **** shot girl won't give up.
The group of addled lads push into my space,
Throwing a punch they don't mean and
sneering love lines to the bar maid
that definitely hasn't heard that one before.
I don't think even she thinks her Next jeans are the stairway to heaven, pal.
A fourth goal rolls in, it's time go. The dream of the gathered mass
flies away on the muggy early May air
quick as it came. back to the beginning. square one.
Not for a while yet.
The bouncer clears the floor.
And still the shots are sold.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 5:15 AM UTC
I sometimes wonder if things would ever have been different.
The jobs, the fallouts, the lovers.
Memories of a painful past
And times too hedonistic to think of on Sundays.
Days of conflict and mourning,
When ideas clashed and personalities rubbed
just a little tight.
Too much for comfort, not enough to tear off the fabric
The polite veil we wear professionally
In arenas where saying too much of the wrong thing
Lands you in all the hot water without a paddle.
I think of you and the night it all went wrong
When I broke your trust; know I hurt too.
You didn't love me, as much as I wanted it
That was a match up of convenience and a need just
for something.
Some-thing.
But not one thing, which became nothing.
The cold was crisp and quiet like the post festive silence when I left.
It makes me wonder where the time goes,
It was oh so years ago.
The more things change the more they stay the same,
But that's a lie whoever they may be tells.
Convenience keeps you quiet.
It's the waiting that kills you.
Moribund.
Pausing the show for nothing.
The shop ran out while you were waiting.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 8:33 AM UTC
I write to read to break the time
To question if the words are mine
I ask myself is this work real?
Are those my thoughts, what did I steal?
The waiting room within my mind
No stone unturned or left behind
Moves finger tips on keyboards cross
Scroll or don't, it's not my loss
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:23 AM UTC
This isn't a bar.
It's not a night at the movies.
It's a room full of strangers,
Some alone, some with 'friends'
We strain to hear one another over radio rock,
A wall of dead noise keeps our voices down.
Conversation no more than shouts and grins,
Awkward and exchanged in haste
The stale stick of cheap chicken clutches our fingers,
A cajun glow washed down with glances at despondent companions
A young girl performs from table to and fro,
Four beers here, caesar wrap to go.
Eyes are on her;
For many in here, some attention is welcome.
This isn't a bar.
It's a waiting room with nowhere to go - yet.
A burned gap in the time,
To the next event.
Finish up. We're going.
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:17 AM UTC
it is just past 2am, awaken on the couch,
S. has a bad cold, and I disembark at ports
of rooms far from the common bedroom,
to avoid the intense colors of the common cold,
tho peeking in on her throughout the day,
with popcorn sweet, popsicles, water, toasted
baguette with Belgian butter and strawberry
jam from our local farm, a summer residual
resident in our December citified refrigerator…
this delivery guy also provides the sectionals,
the Book Review, the Sunday Magazine,
and forehead warmth to the touch touches,
for though cold and old verbally ven intra~connect,
the reality is that they’re just enemies, adversaries,
and best keep and kept in separate room quartered
containers
in the dark, I write musings upon how a Cubist
paints a bouquet, how to truly see, wherein
lies the overlap of poetry, painting and photography,
each sense, trying two modalities to uncover, discover,
then
recover them, to envision and revision what the world
sets out to display upon a tabula rasa, and issues commands,
like observe, witness, explore, sensate, investigate or to
truly see the overlap of the human eye and the innate
mind’s eye, permitting us become the synthesizer of both
with our ever evolving given tools
in my posses, I think I've come to love certain items only after
accidental interaction & investigation led me to them;
items of color
(here i pause~stop, sleep is knocking)
three things of color do I so enjoy,
first came colored gems,
then came the flowers
for sale at my corner bodega,
lastly and most recent, I’ve
started to mentally catalogue
the shadings of the human skin
Dec 14, 2025
Dec 14, 2025 at 6:26 PM UTC
So many people spend their lives in the past,
I myself am the guiltiest of all in that regard.
I live there rent free,
Day in, day out.
I sleep in ex lovers beds, and wake up in childhood bed rooms.
I break my foot every winter,
And I have that debate that summer I decided to take those pills on July 1st, on an insignificant Tuesday in March.
I live there rent free,
A man of the past and future,
Rarely of the present.
Echoes of hearing “Don't say that to someone who already has a tree picked out” As they refer to me.
So much time lost,
Living in times already gone.
And for the first time,
I'm ready to move on.
Time to stop living in memories.
Though I'll remember it sweetly,
As I make the here and now, my home.
Jan 1
Jan 1, 2026 at 11:54 AM UTC
They say /
Love can heal /
& that time mends all wounds. /
Even so, the pain still lingers: /
The sting of mortality, /
The chains & shackles of a martyred past, /
Unrequited love. /
These all besmirch /
The light of a heart /
That once shone, fulminated resplendently; /
Moreover, the residue of my departed juvenescence /
Leaves me in a melancholic haze. /
What I am is disillusioned & /
What I’m not is where I would like to be. /
The Cimmerian shadows of the past & my regret /
Still cloud my mind /
& leave me singing a discordant melisma /
That reverberates, resonates, echoes through in & throughout. /
Even so, my hope & faith /
Have not been extinguished. /
A remnant, a relic, a vestige of what I once was /
Is where I stand /
I pray that Jah, The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love /
Can redeem & repurchase me /
From the abyss of my angst & sorrow. /
Jesus Christ is my Lord, King, & savior, /
Now & forevermore, excelsior. /
(—Se’ lah)
12-08-2025
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 12:21 PM UTC
Amidst the city of joy
An emissary of gloom dwells around
Sometimes lost, sometimes found
Who is this stranger in this land?
Up and then she roams around and here's what he found:
Happiness and companionship blooms in garden of whispers,
While her desert harbours mirages of desolation
The glamorous lights of joy don't reach her heart
While her darkness knows no bounds.
And hence the endless solo of solitude continues....
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 12:17 PM UTC
I’m lost in the multitudes of thought
concerning things seemingly ignored
by most people
Maybe I’m biased towards those
who share the yoke of chronic pain
waking up wondering if they’re a dumpster
fire or a multi-dimensional dumpster phoenix
reborn in the image of a vessel
without a check engine light
I might laugh at myself on days
where I can’t remember how to move
trying to prove to the universe
that I can play through the agony
of actually calling it anarchy or just
another random limp I have to walk off
rub some dirt on it change socks
drink a glass of water
go for a walk but not too far
if it’s cold outside providing I
actually dress for the weather
**** I forgot my hat and that
reminds me of an old Danish song
sung in the winter for the children
if they forget their hats, they might die
Am I going to die out here
in Willamette Valley rain and then
some poor ******* will knock on my door
and explain to my wife how stupid
the whole situation is
It’s weird being a dice roll from dying
and relying on your love to get you
through the days when taking a ****
is an act of ******* congress
I confess, it’s hard for me to fathom
that out of random chance I have
love in my life enough to know I won’t
die alone while making me simultaneously
never want to die at all
Oct 21, 2025
Oct 21, 2025 at 4:57 PM UTC
how long,
have I spent,
denying,
what cannot be denied,
how long,
have I spent,
trying,
what should not be tried,
how long,
have I spent,
lying,
to myself,
convinced these truths were lies?
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 10:08 PM UTC
We are not the same.
Look to your wrists,
Look to your ankles,
If what you search for are manacles.
You who claim I wear chains,
Who seek to shackle my spouse
Because you refuse to embrace your existence.
I am not bound,
For I am freedom.
And, in that way,
I grant you the same thing.
Jun 30, 2025
Jun 30, 2025 at 12:29 PM UTC
What is hunted for?
For who is searched for?
What is sought?
From nature: knowledge - compassion.
From the cosmos: companions - patience.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 2:56 PM UTC
From the savagery which birthed civility;
From the meek,
I made strong.
I who go on.
I choose to pass-on,
To divide my belongings to those most deserving.
I who will work with others,
And in that way - do for them.
But never by force,
Through any medium & by any method
Of which that takes shape & form.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 11:39 AM UTC
For even space is occupied,
There is both foreground & background.
That which is visible
And that which is elusive.
Like vapor from water forming clouds.
Like gaseous vents expelling
What can not be seen, but felt.
All is & all is connected.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 11:24 AM UTC
They speak of absence & inaction -
Yet, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩,
¹ Such things do not exist.
Like imbalance,
These are merely perspectives.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 11:20 AM UTC
When one withholds their perspective,
This is the most sour grape.
That is like wine gone bad,
Caustic & acidic.
Destructive to the natural flow
Of the great amphoras.
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 11:46 AM UTC
They call them crocodile tears
When animals muddy the waters
By disturbing silt or dirt
And thereby obscuring/obstructing
What is otherwise a clear view.
As like pouring wine into a cup of water.
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 11:43 AM UTC
The Gordian Knot?
¹ The mesh of civilization.
To untie it is to understand it,
To know it.
This is to TIGHTEN it.
To cleave it is to try to conquer it;
It all comes undone,
Never to be re-strung.
You can be Prometheus,
Who was actually always celebrated,
Or you can be Aeneas -
The one who was really ChAINhed to the rock.
What matters is learning,
² All else is for naught.
Jun 24, 2025
Jun 24, 2025 at 1:05 PM UTC
"And it is I
Deciding where & when, if,
¹ You shall go."
"And it is I
Who rows from shore to shore
² Ferrying each passenger."
Jun 24, 2025
Jun 24, 2025 at 12:57 PM UTC