The Unforeseen and Peppermint Ice Cream Pumps...

I have a temperature. A fever. For real, not the Peggy Lee song. NyQuil in the daytime. Laying and lying in a field of down pillows... I'm tipping and tapping. Mind mind is not here but there, thinking of here.

Everyday is a new chance to discover the Lesbian-Made Strawberry-Thai-Chicken of Life. Everyday is a chance to to lick the Cool-Peppermint-Ice-Cream of the Unforeseen. Ritual deceives us into thinking days blur into an unchanging circle of predictability. It's a lie.

I know...I know...I love ritual too. Being a renounced, but still-heavily-stained Catholic...I know the pleasure of ritual. It smiles at the chaos...showing it's shiny teeth. It bites both ways though. Keeping chaos at bay, it also keeps our discovery at bay. The bottom of my trousers are scuffed, frayed, and yellowed by the anointment of street-laden-burrito-blues. My shoots (part shoe, part boot) are happily worn and drunkenly free stepping into the shampoo-y bubbles of chance. *pop*

*cough*

Rapping My Knuckles While Walking Zeno's Steps...

I'm holding your hand. When you hold something long enough you might not feel it anymore, though...there it is, still cupped, loosely fast forwarding the day to slowly make. Will weakens and wakes. I will always be there. If there is permanent impermanence, then permanence exists. Zeno tells me I'll never get there. Well I'm there already Zeno you naysayer! Math is a clock. Handy, but what is clock without time? What is this ground if I not cover it? Spilling my seed to where nothing grows...sometimes you just have to. It feels good to let it out, sans the outcome. The doing and the finishing. Let me wipe this up for you.

I rap my knuckles all day...in my bed, in my car, on the sidewalk, and on the edge of my toilet seat. Should I wash my hands? Am I dirty? I must accept the shit inside me. Worms do. Everything...everything is clean. One man's dirt is another man's field to grow in.

Don't let go of my hand...we're already there. Clean and naked.

I'm On the Party Line!!!

I'm on the "Party Line"! For you young-uns...it's a Kinks song about the old days when you couldn't have a telephone line all to yourself...you shared it with others in your building or neighborhood. Damn...I WANT TO BRING THAT BACK! BRING BACK THE PARTY LINE!

A group of your friends all yelling at the same time on one line. I want to bring to fingerprints and smudges back! Digital can handle it! Let's get messy! Mud pies, dirt clogs, and spit. I mean...what are friends for?

CIRCLE...CIRCLE...DOT...DOT...NOW I HAVE A COOTY SHOT!

I'm sorry I got grass stains on your favorite dress. You put your smell on me and I'm gonna put my smell on you. Everyone can tell something happened. So what? They wish it happened to them.

Well it can. Come on the Party Line! Are you with me?!

Baby I'm Amazed...

Fingers to keys today. I have to write. For you. You know who you are. You crazy, amazing, giving person who held out your hand and said "Here you go. I hope this helps." You visited my Atom Orr Patronage page and gave to me. Just because you wanted to and you could.

In these times. Tough for all, people still surprise and inspire. Perhaps especially because it is tough.

I will not pontificate, drumbeat or ramble-dramble much longer because words will dull my feelings of humble awe and appreciation. Just know I truly thank you for what you've given me and what you given me inside. Hope. Acknowledgment that in a small way I may have given something of value to you. Today, tomorrow and other tomorrows...

Thank you.

My Weightless Feather Cloak...

I have my weightless feather cloak on. What is a weightless feather cloak you ask? I dreamt it. At the time I didn't know what the heck it was. I like the idea of it being weightless. Holding on to nothing, but connected. This is a premise that has stirred in me for a long time. Images of sandy hour-glasses spilling down...breaking them open to stop the sand, but even then we can't stop the sand from falling. I did this when I was 8 years old. My parents were getting a divorce and I had this toy hour glass. I thought that if I could stop time, I could stop the breakup.

It was a gold painted hourglass. The glass was plastic. Very hard to break. Nothing was going to stop me. Going to the garage and into my father's red tool box, I took out his hammer and slung it down. I broke it open and held the red magic-time-sand carefully in my hands. Some of it immediately spilled out, but it was okay. As long as I had some of it, I could stop it. An hour went by and my hands were numb and tired from the tenseness of my muscles. I suddenly realized I was not going to be able to hold on to it for very long. The very idea of holding on to anything for a long period of time seemed pointless. It was then I let it go. It felt so good. Letting go. Putting it down. Moments is all we have holding on to something. My parents are going to divorce and there's nothing I can do about it. I developed a faint smile. A relief. There can be pleasure in letting go.

5-MeO-DMT (5-methoxy-dimethyltryptamine) - I'm not really into drugs per se...weed and alcohol have been my only real experience up until this isolated compound found from a poison of a South American Bufo Frog was inhaled into me. *laughing* Typing this is hilarious, but the experience was quite sobering and has forever stained me. A good stain. We all need a little staining now and again. Let's just say, after my life changing experience, I have nothing against psychedelic astronauts or Burroughsian super-sticky sexed-up typewriters, though being a very tentative and respectful astronaut participant I find important.

This made me remember. Made me remember what we all know, and what we forget. We are connected. Connected to everything. We are bound together in a permanent making. Why bother hold on to what you're already connected to? These hands are a temporary illusion. Our bodies are but a vessel that will break...like my golden plastic hourglass. I am romantic about the past, hopeful for the future and in Awe of the now. Awake. Though do not misconstrue being "awake" with G.I. Gurdjieff's idea.

Now...I stop. I freely say that I know nothing. These statements I've made are the closest I've come to a faith. A faith with no name... that I wear like a weightless feather cloak.

Release...Recoil...Reload...

Whew! Another album released. It was quite a year in the making. It's always so joyful and terrifying at the same time. Yay it's finished! Of fuck...it's finished. I feel them with equal vigor and trepidation. I won't go into the making of the album, as I've already done so in an earlier blog post. I'm just letting my conjure out of the bottle and letting it do its thing, whatever it may be...whilst I look on like a child who just set his plastic army men on fire with lighter fluid...

Redemption for a Reckoning...

This afternoon I was in my back yard with my friend Chris Prescott and I saw a little ruby-throated hummingbird on the ground, sprawled out. At first I thought it was dead, then I saw the super-fast breaths it was taking to match its heart. Its alive! Was its wing broken? Sick? Hmmm...no...I think it fell out of their nest and couldn't quite fly yet. Gently cupping it up in my hand, and  just letting his head (I say he because I felt it was a he.) pop out, he opened his beak wanting to be fed. Uh-oh. Kids. A little nest was made for Humphrey. Yes...Humphrey the Hummingbird. I quickly tippy-tapped on my phone for the animal hospital, called them and they said to bring him in and the Animal Wildlife people would come and pick him up and take care of him. Awesome!Driving to the animal hospital I was sent back in time to when I was 12 years old when I had my first BB gun. The very first and last thing I ever shot with it was a little ruby-breasted hummingbird. It was the most terrible thing I had ever felt at that time. I have always regretted that day and have never forgot that bird. Flashing back to now, sitting in the passenger seat was little Humphrey...I looked in his eyes. I was gonna save him... We made it to the hospital, they immediately took him and fed him. Little hummingbirds need to be fed every 20 minutes apparently. Whew! I filled out some paper work, so they could bring him back to my yard when he was healthy and old enough. I had 14 dollars in my pocket and donated it the hospital. I told Humphrey goodbye and I'll see him in time and he can come back to live in my New Zealand tea tree when he's ready.Driving home I hoped for a little redemption/atonement, maybe not complete, but perhaps some.p.s. I did not take a photo of Humphrey because he was naked and he was embarrassed by the really big balls he possessed, and he didn't want to have to deal with explaining it to his friends on Facebook/Twitter, much less those dreaded Google searches.