ripples in the wake

You can set things up however you like. You can build them or buy them or paint them or carve them. You can set that block down and look at it from all sides. This decision of intent and deliberation is yours. These bricks. This planter. This effigy. The decision is yours. But when you set something down or jot something down or sketch something out it goes splashing though the ground and disappears. What you thought was yours is gone and how can you predict the ripples that are left in its wake?

lazy day

Living life to the fullest while reclining. Neglecting all sorts of responsibilities. Artistic projects go sailing unrealized through my grasp. I tend to dance around those little helium balloons and tug at their strings. a constant struggle to bring them within reach until they start to sag and sink and become manageable. I dip them into clay slip and fire them to a thin and brittle shell. A skeleton of what they were and a shadow of what they could be.  Finished art seems a shell. I like it with strings unknotted and sails whipping out of control. Today goes blazing by and I lay tired and uninclined to do anything. Today goes blazing by and I go blazing through it on my couch chariot. My psychic bobsled.  

On writing new songs......

My songs are pigeons and I am the stunted bell ringer in the tower. I try to nurture them and help them grow. I surround them with electronic devices so that I do not have to remember to feed them. I have programed my machines to feed them while I drink tea and watch you-tube tutorials. I snatch them up and and move though my days. Some of them are so light and frail that the wind catches them and they sail from my grasp, choking out a few breaths and then disappearing. Some of them are strong and they treat me like the clueless parent that I am. I don't know what to do except wake up each morning and hammer obnoxiously through the piano scales.  I don't know what to do except climb to the top of my tower and start ringing the bell.

fly if you are brave

Cool air and ground just dry enough to skateboard to work.  It is mostly down hill.  A skateboard does not quite belong on the sidewalk or the street so I move from one to the other, picking the smoothest route, trying to avoid cars and pedestrians.  What a good feeling it is to be in motion.  To decide your course.  To be alert.  I pause at a cross street and to allow a row of toddlers to cross the street.  They are accompanied by an adult at either end and they all look at me as they pass.  I smile at them and one of them waves.  I felt like telling them that they can roll too if they want to.  Even fly if they are brave.