POEMS & SHORTS

November 20, 2009

10 am starting this. The sun has not hit the deck yet and the grey surface looks a non-descript plain, almost dismal from last nights cold and the wood rails look a, dingy and dull, bleached brown. That’s why sunshine is so powerful. Sun. Shine. Let the sun shine in. Let the sun shine on. The sun shines down on the plain dank grey deck, turning it a, soft warm silver with the wood rails glowing a golden brown. And me, a dismal dull worn down, boring empty sapped out soul…needs the sun too. Waiting for the sun. Don’t wait and bring the sunshine in anyway. Talk about sappy, what a way to start the morning pages here. How about, burnt out? What is that color? Sienna. I’m burnt sienna today…but wait, let’s look that up to be more specific. Burnt sienna – an iron oxide pigment – a warm mid-brown color. I am a warm mid-brown color. Sounds kinda nice…but not. Okay, how about torched? Singed. Burnt crispy black to ashes. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. What I really want to do is to go surfing, wait until my wife leaves for work and head to the waves. I remember when I was 15, my mother used to go to work in the morning and I would be up with her getting ready for school then as soon as she left, I would go back to bed. Same thing? Similar. Self flaggealtion? Gotta look up that spelling, don’t I? Maybe wouda learned it in school if I went. Flagellation. Okay. Brilliant. You get an A plus. No, an A minus for trying twice, no really a B…or just slide down to an F because you failed to spell the word right and had to look it up. Maybe next time you’ll get a better grade.

My computer screen is on 125% zoom. That is where I need to be all the time. No? Neh? Na? Nu? Zoom in on my life, no less. No more, no less and never more. Is there one cognescent thought here? Okay…cognoscent. Cogniscent…fuck, okay cognisense. OKAY. DAMNIT. COGNIZANCE. Doesn’t even make sense in that sentence about the thought. Scent. Sense. Make both, please and stop with the riddles. I mean for Christ’s sake, what am I meaning to say? Ever? Make up a murder story for (the second time) Christ’s sake…

Just back from surfing break. Well, came home made a nice vegetable stew with sprouted black beans, rainbow chard, carrots, yellow squash, tomatoes, scallions and garlic, seasoned with Italian parsley, basil and thyme, topped off with pink salt, hot crushed red pepper and a fresh, half a lime squeezed in. Geeze, a description, read over and making sense. Cognizance. Just wanted to write that again from memory. Conscious knowledge or recognition. Awareness. Had to look that up three fucking times just to remember the definition. Awareness? Now, don’t start again, please. Kenny Burell on jazz guitar, fast and smooth in the background. Yeah, so cool…but back to me. I took a shower and shaved but mister awareness didn’t even remember until he (I) (Who) sat down to peck away here again. I was just thinking that I should take a shower and shave but rubbing my face, felt it was smooth, smooth like Kenny Burell. What a lame stretch that was. No wonder when I take time, the writing comes out so much better. I remember paining over one paragraph for hours or even one sentence just to get it to sound right and here I am spewing like…no, not like a constant cum shot…but that was the first description to enter my mind. See. Point taken. I might have thought of the spewing constant cum shot then spewing soup or spewing shit soup or, dribbling spittle…but then would have realized I use dribble already a few times in prior pages and then came back to the idea of what I was trying to convey and waited until the correct image came to mind, which may have taken an hour or two…and then got it right. Right. Right? Where is right in all these wrongs? And I still feel like I have to take a shower or a bath…something soothing. Nap, nap, nap is calling, wooing, cooing for me to lay down and drift off into sweet late afternoon bliss. Coulda said balmy bliss if it were summer and a warm breeze was blowing through the window…but the window is closed and it is early winter. Déjà vu. I just had one, just as I was writing or perhaps it was a dream I had that I would be here writing like this and the word balmy bliss or the thought or the jazz…can’t seem to catch it again. Deja got away. Vu? What a slippery fish of a memory that was. Kinda like waking up from and intense and detailed dream only to forget all of it, in the instance of the open eyes. Sunny, sunny, sun, no sun no more. Slap the wood blinds I say and see past the horizon into the next hemisphere where the sun is still high, high, high in the…sky? Air? And how can air sound better then sky as far as the sun is concerned. Wind maybe…and I feel all out of it. God, oh, god, give me some more air to breath. Fresh air. Love it. Thank you.

Side note: or ; I don’t know which. I am reading this book, Shantaram, that was recommended to me, highly recommended. But the guy who raved about it happens to be somewhat of a bloated liar, so that should have been a sign. The book has many rave reviews also and is being made into a major motion picture with Johnny Depp. It is action packed and poetic waxed and supposedly deep and soulful and profoundly spiritual and…well, I don’t like it. I don’t belive (god damnit! Can I not spell believe correct after all these years? Motherfuck dyslexia cunt robbers!) the words on the page and do not feel they are authentic. The research is obviously immense and the detailed recollection is more, maybe too much more than thorough. Fuck. I want to like this story. Set I India. An Australian ex-heroin addict, petty criminal, escaping from prison and ending up in Bombay, subjected to the underworld there and learning both Hindi and other dialects, Marthia or something…anyway, recipes for great stuff, although as I read…I don’t fell it. God damnit! Dostoevsky, where are you? Anyway, just to let myself know, I trust myself as a good reader even though I feel like a shit writer. Presently. Present for me. God give me my writing back please. I mean this guy who wrote, ‘Shantaram’ sure knows how to fill a page. Give me that please, I ask of you my dear, helpful, kind forgiving God…(funny, spelled it, gold first). May I have the gold of god please…