there is something i need more than facts. i need a good theory. or better put i need a theory about good. consulting scientists seems useless. they want the former while i seek the later. what makes something anything or us good. i am listening to kenny garrett play his sax with miles davis.I believe that will be the starting point of my search for the theory of good. when miles plays a song you dont listen to the song you just listen to miles. the song will appear at some point but you just stay lost in miles and it will come when it feels like it.
someday. maybe tomorrow. i will come to you all and report my findings in the middle of a five hundred acre field of rye…
the loose sounds
composing a melody
out of a ‘riff’
slow dancing under a meteor shower
memories are clickbait. those parts of us that we cling to within the hopeless terms of ‘reality’. when the incidental remains on the shelf too long true meanings are lost. ashes of the dead cat scattered at the outlet.
i drag the past to a pit
and beat the shit out of it
dont own the clothes i am wearing
in the sixties a lot happened. most of it i will just keep to myself. but i will tell you that we spent little time keeping up appearances and even less wearing a stitch of covering. why did we go to southern california. why did we take spring break in florida. well. we let a lot more than our freak flags fly i can tell you that.
on a porch
with no chairs
we rock all night
heavy metal prelude
my tastes in everything are eclectic. before i crank metallica and black sabbeth up to max on my car radio i listen to a little hillary han and khatia buniatishvili. if the world is going to ever be ‘fixed’ we are going to need every tool in the toolbox.
before the last one
that was the best
its not too far to never never land.
time moves on without me. i am stuck in memories and it seems just perfect to me. the present moment holds the entire past in its hands. cupped and filled to overflowing my youth just runs down the drain. all of my childhood was spent daydreaming. now that i think about it all of my adulthood too.
star trek episodes
the pointed ears on my cat
we have a wonderful rescue cat. she loves us both but differently. she loves me to pick her up and carry her around the house. my wife not that at all. she wants my wife to read to her while she sits and gets petted. actually my wife is reading to herself but our cat just wants to ‘be’ with her. we can both play with her that she is down with at any time. oh and i feed her her wet food once a day and she cleans the plate. my wife on the other hand finds all the posh balls she has ‘scored goals’ with under the kitchen cupboard and the water heater closet.
we think these wee brained souls are pets for us to play with and manipulate with food and attention. but i think it is quite the other way around. she finds roles for us to play in her dramas and provides the whispered script for us to act out with meows from off stage. we named her dae-min. i wonder what she has named us.
i am quite sure
was really a cat