finblooming

summer.mp3

Summer-
the time and temperature that calls for movement.
The air that demands action.
The movement of particles.
Of energy.
Excitation taken from high & low pressure systems mixing about,

is over.
is in the process of ending.
Its time for falling.
To smell one’s own death.
To sniff snuff. Moan. Yell. and then desist.
Movement is a little harder.
Hibernation that much easier.
Laziness becomes an art to itself.

Looking backwards gets you to warmth quicker than forward looking.
And so.
Look back.
Looking back.
Back looking.
Open the floodgates of memory.
Reenact moments in the mind and convert them to subtler more still mediums.

But lines don’t connect.
Moments fail to intersect.
Mind can’t mind its own relations.
Selfhood can’t associate and appropriate itself within the conglomeration of associations.
Neumonic devices serve useful but were neglected when most needed.

So pull out swirling splashes of 1/5ths and 1/10ths of events.
Isolate an emotional hybrid.
A mixed breed mood with no core, no greater percentage.
A mongoloid moment…
Limbs of August.
Heart of September
Organs in July
Mind of November:

36 mph.
Wind.
A brashing whistling cataract of emotion.
Bicycle jolts, jitters, but upholds integrity.
Accordion unperturbed by high velocity wind storms.
Dust particles launched into a whirling blazing dance through my beard.
Whiting and graying my hairs.

Heart
pulse pulse pulse.
Will a big bear jump and bear his claws?
Who is lurking here?
What is hidden in this darkness?
I am the creepy old man in the ally behind the multitude
In the cracks of the neon glowing pulsing party.
I am the quiet composed river gypsy whose rustling induces a fluttery
pulse pulse pulse

Flash!
1 ton of metal over a furry mesh of fluids out of the corner of your eye.
A purple orange fluctuating opera in a language that moves in and out of sense.
I am thrust into water.
I thrust her away from him.
Arm! Arm! Body! Arm!
“stab knives into him!” a 6 year old yells.
I yell. I laugh. I am off.

Moving upwards
A tree, cracking, bending from my weight.
Happily supporting me.
Beckoning me on.
A geodesic dome built by cuddled kite flying acrobats.
Unexpected trampolines.
Omnidirectional swings.
Dust flying and guiding my motions.
Up a desert pyramid.
A view of the whole world.
but only a partial whole world view. Repeated and reenacted enumerable times.

Moving downwards
My knees hurt.
My image in the mirror?
Hair line receding?
Age. Age. Age.
Can’t do this for long.
I doubt myself as a Mount Washington climber.
I doubt my vigor with a snowboard.
Shall I restrict my creativity to sustain my body?
Shall I go out like a flash?
A flaming lotus girl flash?

Rocking back and forth.
Back and forth.
A flaming see-saw
A musical playground.
Merry-go-round ossilating ambient noise.
The same omnidirectional swing.
My stomach on all these things.
Going down. Going up.
An airplane. My pen as a distraction.
An airplane.
NYC. OTR. DAL. STL. SFO. NYC

Me
the isolationist cabin dweller
the 50,000 person festival accordionist.
The friend family off into nature all we need for 3 days is with us.
The suave talker.
“use m’ dolla for some booze.”
“use m’ for some lovin.”
use my hands and mouth to entertain you and get you through the struggle.

The male friend
the story of 2
Michael. Abe. Joel. My brother. Brothers. Dads. Kin.
Rand. Random person met @bar at Burning man.
The staring at the stars.
The mutual capturing of moments with words, sounds, images.
An embrace.
Knowing that you have a partner in your aloneness
in your what-the fuck-is-life-ness

The pop of pills
the antidote for sobriety.
The tincture mushroom brew.
The altered pH.
The galug galug of whiskey by the open fire.
The puff puff pass mentality of the road.
Here’s that dolla’ for some booze.
Boozehungry Canadian travelers.
Body Hungry Burningman Meat Heads.
strange men with finely carved wooden flasks.

The greeting!
A “salut” shouted, accentuated, Parisianized in the streets of Montreal.
“you can stay at our place”
the friendly face of Chinchilla Plattsburgians
“Why hellooooo there”
gdaaay” “top of the morning”
following by mumbled murmurings.
“hee hee hee” at me.
Strum. La! Ukelele.
a lone postal worker glancing and saying good morning.

Splash
an apline lake
pyramid lake
willobee walobee way.
Hands on. 30 of them.
Touchin me all over.
Sprtizin and spraying away.
Ah. I’m clean! My boundaries preserved.
State lines perturbed as the water from a dozen lakes splish splashes through m’ blood stream.

An open arm
anticipating the hug of a friend rarely seen
a friend that won’t be seen for some time to come.
Getting ready to bellow my bellows.
To process noisy sound air into musical strings of dancing dissonance.
An unconventional greeting saying “I’m a strange friendly person
what are you?”

Creation.
Enjoyed in surround sound.
Multisensational vibrational conflagurations.
Whabam! A new type of sound.
Kaslam! A made up situation involving a left over sandwhich moving eastwards and
a migratory orange traffic cone.
Poof! You are healed
Poof! You have a new illness more subtle and magical than the last

You
looking at me through 1 inch of playa dust.
Gazing through 10 mm of makeup, orange tights and purple robes.
You can’t see through my accordion.
You can’t find my hidden cabin.
You can’t keep up with my constant pedaling.
Look into my eyes.
See what you’ve always wanted to find in yourself.
I’ll help perpetuate whatever myth you like.

No
You are driving too fast for Oregon & Nevada.
Your accordion is disturbing the peace of this pier.
Your actions have hurt me.
Your sexual habits too free…too compulsory.
You can’t climb this dust ridden bass thumpin pole!
You can’t take a picture here!
My no to your no.

Yes
Faster and Harder.
A sea of smiles reflecting off the keys of my red plastic air pumpin music machine.
“its time to capture this moment on film!”
I like your yes.
I’ll step down.
25 foot tall uncle sam stilts.
I’m back safe on the ground.
Ah.
Groundedness.

End
not letting it. Staying up all night until the crack of light is a reminder of eternal circularity.
Talk of apocalypse.
The end time.
Finito.
Embracing it with open arms.
Parting embraces.
Dont’ know when I’ll see ya again.
The final touches on a piece of creation.

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