Lesson One: Sebastian’s Death, 10:38pm

•October 16, 2012 • Leave a Comment

It was midnight at ladybug beach. The moon slapped half on the star sky, lighting sand granules and ladybug backsides. A bonfire blew bark to the dune where the ladybugs huddled. The bark landed with a thud upon poor Sebastian, who at the time was swearing by the Lightening Hand of Java that he rode the tip of a seal’s nose earlier in the day.
Marco and Polo discreetly exchanged money and a hearty palp shake.
“So Java does exist?” said Marco.
“Tonight in the form of bark fire.” replied Polo.
The untimely, yet questioningly serendipitous death of Sebastian prompted much murmur in the crowd.
“Is the sky falling?”
“No, no! That is impossible according to Jerry’s Law!”
“I didn’t attend university, what is that?”
“‘Triple Carmel Crunch.’”
“I don’t get it.”
The well-informed ladybug exhaled a sigh of pure frustration, “Education these days! It means, in laybug’s terms, ‘that no piece of sky shall fall unless it is covered in caramel crunch.’ It follows Ben’s Third Law of Strawberry Fudge, that states very clearly, ‘all pieces are evenly distributed with care’, you see?”
“Oh, yes, yes, of course! It all makes sense now!”
“Exactly, physics can answer any of ladybugkind’s questions!”

However, not all conversations were so scientific. For example, Sebastian’s ex-ladyfriend Marsha was heard saying to her friend, Beth, “Bastard stood me up with the same excuse. Riding the tip of a seal nose- absurd! Java smites the liar!”
Her friend crossed herself, “May the Cream be with us,” whispered Beth.
Simultaneously- “My aphids will be fatherless!” followed by a dramatic wail and the sound of crowd consolations.
Marsha sharply turned and began stomping over to the commotion, Beth following nervously,

“Carlota!” Marsha screamed, “First she steals my ladyfriend, then she steals the spotlight! My Java, she probably doesn’t even have real antennae!”
“Calm down Marsha, you’ll upset yourself!” Beth sheepishly said in an attempt to sooth.
“Stay out of it! Hey, Carlota, why don’t you shut your overdramatic trap!”
Carlota, looked up and wiped the snot and tears from her face, “What are you going to do about it Marsha? Sebastian never liked your spots, he said they were too small!”
Marsha screamed! “Oh we are going to have it out, you and I!”
“Bring it on ‘Pepper Flakes!’” whipped back Carlota.
“’Pepper-Flakes’?! That’s it!”

Needless to say a girl fight between ladybug kind over a lying-cheating ladybug is quite a sight. You see, ladybugs aren’t naturally fast or strong or agile. In fact they are quiet clumsy in hand to hand battle and tend to collide with one another, tumble to the ground, and then continue to rock back and forth while yelling insults. Insults may include: “Your mother’s a Stink Beetle!”, “Where’d you get your legs?!”, “I’ve seen better antenna on a snail!”, “Who painted your spots? Crayola?” and the ever worst, “You have the pronotum of a fly larvae!”

However, before you begin to believe that all of ladybug kind is filled with overly excitable and jealous females, lets gather by the fire where the bark still burns, and Sebastian’s body slowly smolders. Two ladybugs stood drinking to the memory of their burnt buddy.

“Dude, he was my best friend,” said Brett.
“Bro, I know, cause you’re my best friend,” replied Fred.
“Dude, I guess that means we each others best buds now.”
“Deep.”
“Cavernous.”
“Bro, we should totally do something awesome to honor Sebastian’s memory,” Fred said.
“Maybe a nice plaque.”
“Yeah, plaques are cool, but Brett, it isn’t bro-enough, ya know? We need to go big.”
They took swigs of their bugbrew for inspiration. Fred scratched behind his pronotum, “Bro, I got it.”
“Yeah?”
Fred looked Brett squarely in the eye, “We ride the nose tip of a seal.”
“Hells yeah.”
On the other side of the fire, grandmother ladybug talks to the young spotless aphids, “I see the questions in your eyes and the furrowing of your antennas. I know not how to answer or ease your minds. There is no single answer, just as there is no single story upon these sands; just as each of you are a short shinning moment in the Great Cup of Java, the death of Sebastian is a single moment on the shores of Ladybug beach. Live, explore, and adore the feel of the breeze. Don’t linger in the voices of yesterday or tomorrow, hear the song the air sings now. Find solace in the warm fire and the knowledge it is fueled by one of your own.”
Thus ends the first lesson of Ladybug Beach.

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It begins like this

•July 27, 2012 • Leave a Comment

It’s night out… warm wind, cold air. Feeling duality as a sense rather then an idea is nothing short of bliss. I stand far away from the laughing hearts and drinking minds. The golden light makes the shelters a warm ember on the floor of a fireplace. Mountains fragment the sky, beckoning me large scissors to cut and separate the earth from the heavens. I smile. Everything in its right place.

            Under dime store Christmas lights they sit and play. They forget even their own script they are so deep undercover. It saddens me to know they are trapped. I am more saddened to know that I still too haven’t read my script.

            The sand below my feet speaks- soft grains brushing past each other all locomotion and hush. I bend down to touch its old wisdom. Hair falls on my cheek, it’s nosey; it too wants to hear the sands tale. Like I, it too desires to be regaled with more mystery and magic. My palm connects to the earth, my fingers spread open wide, ready to grasp in my web each and every morsel of its side of the story.

            The sand has an ancient voice coupled with tones of pitch from the vast catalogue of tongues it carries bites of. I close my eyes and the let the blackness of my lids seep in. For a moment, I am here, there, and everywhere all at once and the instant I am confused by the sensation, I remember my lids and my brain sends lines of light upon its black screen to comfort my infant soul. I lay down prostrate, stomach first chilled by the sudden temperature change, then soothed by the waves of sand. Ear, thigh, to toe I touch the ground. Like a child at story time, I wiggle about to make myself comfortable for the tale ahead.

            It begins like this…

            Strangely it seems I’ve been doing this my whole existence. Nothing much else really. Telling this same tale to you people on countless occasions, truly thinking you’ll hear it properly and get the whole blasted thing right. Sometimes I change the characters, sometimes I change the scenery, sometimes I even play around with the plot elements on a very elementary level- and still you don’t get it. I presume its because you don’t hear well, or perhaps much truth is lost in translation… maybe this time I’ll teach you my language. At any rate, it is what it is, and what ever it is, is good.

            But that’s not what you wanted to hear now was it? That isn’t the story you want told. All right, let us start over then, shall we:

            Bright night start light, it begins all over again, this dove takes a phoenix flight. Hear the motionless dreams of deep sky objects footfall so swift past our cold twelve a.m. noses. Let your lips turn upward in their joy knowing the strangeness of the times. Sit back and allow the work begun upon this collage. You’ve earned that degree in level one hundred and forty four jigsaw- that kind of prowess doesn’t need the top of the box.

            Music from far away snaps me out of my daze. Did I do it again? Did I hear the right tale, or did I imagine that I did? Did I hear the beginning and daydream through the rest? Where you even speaking at all? I open my eyes to the star bathing granules in my wake. My fingers inch near my face and begin drawing circles in the sand. I hear in my head, words being dictated as if I am at a computer back home months from now, or years ago, I really can’t tell anymore. Of what place my body truly is, I don’t know… it only seems that my mind is intact and sealing in this certain moments of travel. My pointer finger makes an indent in the sand, a small deepening crevice. Tiny granules fall down its cliff side into the valley below. I imagine myself straddling one, a cowboy hat in one hand, I have roped a grain of sand and riding it in its own world. Tiny me looks at big me and wonders why I need to be so big? Big me looks down and wonders why I need to be so small.

            “All the better to see all things with,” my sand grain whinnies below my eyes and my thighs. All me’s smile, with our cold noses and hair wild. Our eyes meet and we share something, a memory I think, then it fleets away as fast as the shooting star in the sky that catching my ADD eye.

            Again pulled back. Oh sand what are you trying to tell me? Really now! This is absurd! I can’t keep doing this! Sliding in and out and in and out and in and out! Why can’t you just speak loud and clear enough so I don’t fade away from your story? I struggle with translation! I trouble with sitting still!

            It was quiet.

            My mind, I kept it still.

            I kept it blank.

            I kept it from dream.

            It was quiet.

            My mind, I kept it still.

            I kept it blank.

            I kept it from dream.

            It was quiet.

            My mind, I kept it still.

            I kept it blank.

            I kept it from dream.

            It was quiet. The music from earlier changed. No longer loud and menacing, it was a single violin caressing its strings to sing a song of loss and hope. Two ideas/emotions that reoccur: so many archetypes to keep track of, to de-feather into their skinny naked selves. What does a naked archetype look like? I imagine superman, as though he lost his powers and spent a year in a Auschwitz. All pale-skin and bones, clinging to a filthy ragged red cape crying out, “I am Superman, I am Superman!!!” No, you’re not, not anymore. Large gloved hands break through the ceiling and pick up the writhing piece of humanity by the nape of its neck. Those same large hands are joined by more large hands. They hold down the deflated Superman. A large syringe enters from above, all green and blue goo in its chamber. In it plunges into the stomach of the defeated Superman. One thumb of the giant hand is all it takes to push the fluid in. Held upon the counter, Superman’s eyes go brilliantly wide, he tries to fight as he tries to scream- his once powerful voice a gaspy rush of dead air. The goo pounds through his veins and body, leaving in its wake something different. Once dry opaque skin turns warm, full, and taught again. All features changes, Superman has transformed-

            Oh-

 

 

 

 

 

            Oh. 

Mick Jagger ain’t got nothing on me

•July 19, 2012 • Leave a Comment

satisfaction
is
finishing a poem after dancing to slow drums
witnessing a cloud shape-shift into various birds
loving an animal that loves you back
understanding that animals can be human too

satisfaction
finds
a peaceful mind, ripe for new ideas
a restful soul, on the steps of adventure
a caring heart, so broken it is open
a strong body, able to hold the reality of life

Cycles

•July 19, 2012 • Leave a Comment

on water, a grace

tepid

recoiled at heat and ice

launched 

by forces fed by fish, or the splashing of a bear

skyward

melded into molecules, wandered into stratus

waited

for the time to rain

On sickness

•January 25, 2012 • Leave a Comment

I’ve been sick for the better part of a month, though I’ve been in denial of the illness.
“God, that cough sounds awful!” -everyone
“Oh no, its fine! You should’a heard me yesterday!” –me

I like to think of sickness, not as this invading particle trying its damnedest to propagate itself while slowing draining the life force from my body, but as somehow a part of me I haven’t listened to. That maybe, just maybe the sickness is one of the many voices I have ignored.

And sometimes, sick is just sick.

Yet, now forgive the colander on my head gentle reader, have you ever talked to your cough? That runny nose? That strange thing growing on the side of your toe you try really hard to ignore while you are showering?

I decided to have a chat with my cough and see what I would learn.
The following, you may or may not read, is a poorly reconstructed transcript of that conversation.

-Sooooo, cough. Um you’ve been here awhile.
– So what?
– Well, you’re getting in the way of my jive.
– Maybe you’re using me as an excuse to not jive, as you so well put it, Shakespeare.
– Um, (subject is clearly taken aback by the ferocious name-slaying used by the other subject) that could be true, but-
– Nah, man, you are totally using me as an excuse to not work out.
– I can’t breath.
– All in your head, man.
– Okay, cough. Let’s take this from a different direction. I’ve been pretty optimistic this whole time-
– You know, that’s your problem. I’m tired of your optimism. Shit will work out. Everything will be cool. Sometimes shit isn’t cool and more often then not, life doesn’t work out.
– Okay cough, I hear you, but I don’t know what you want from me.
– Give up hope for a change. You walk around with some sorta happy stick up your ass, and you know what. Just give in. Sometimes shit happens. Embrace it. Embrace me. Stop hoping me away.
– I haven’t been-
– OH YES YOU HAVE! You’ve been positive thinking me away from the moment I set up shop in your lungs. “I’ll be fine!” and “Drink some juice!” and my favorite, “I’ll still jog”. Well you did all that, and you know what? I’m still here!
– Why?
– Because sometimes you have to give up your hope. You need to be reminded that you can’t be attached to what you consider to be “good” or “positive”. I wanted to remind you that you are human, and to be human YOU COUGH.
– That sucks.
– That’s the condition, man.
– So if I give up hope and give into your… your sickness, what will happen?
– Ah, now there you go again-
– What do you mean? There I go again?! I’m just asking-
– And that’s another problem. You just keep asking what will happen. Who cares what will happen. Just give up hope, grab a surfboard, and ride the wave of unknown possibility. Much more exciting.
– Says you. I don’t want to be sick.
– People never want what they have and that’s why they are never happy. Think about it Einstein, if you could embrace me, welcome me even, would I seem that bad? Would I seem to upset your jive as you said? If you could just take me for what I am, an annoying cough that is grounding you, maybe you’ll learn something. How’s that for positive thinking? If you could accept me, you could do anything.
– Wow, cough, I didn’t realize how smart you were.
– I know. You’ve been ignoring me. That’s why I had to be so loud and obnoxious.
– Okay, I get it. Thanks cough. I’ll be sick. I’ll stop fighting you.

And that’s how I got better.
I also took a nap.

sharing songs

•January 25, 2012 • Leave a Comment

music
passed between lovers
on cold
as well as
warm nights
in the rustle of leaves
and
the silence of snow

the notes mingle like saliva, exchanging breathes spreading like wildfire or AIDs

you are altered
you are changed
the song, weaving a new skin

Kids these days…

•January 20, 2012 • Leave a Comment

walking in the rain
he’s drinking from a plastic
bottle of water