waking up from dawn's
dining table daydream
to the rattle-bang
of mourning doves
trying to fly into
picture-window suns
manure
The older I get, the less I feel I have something to say in a world that increasingly has a counterpoint, even when there is no need to counter anything. Why bother when it just opens the door for someone who feels they might need to school you on whatever you write or say?
Not that I’m opposed to hearing different takes on something. It it their need to be right that makes me scratch my head and want to throw both hands in their direction and say, “Oh! Bother!”.
Work. Play. Here. There. Family. Everyone needs to have an opinion and their opinion cannot be swayed. It is vital that it is not swayed. And, if you don’t try to sway theirs, you have people poking at you to get you to sway your opinion, even if you would rather not have an opinion at all some of the times.
Even this post is an opinion I’d rather not have.
So, perhaps, I’ll dig a hole under the oak tree and bury this post with a handful of other opinions I carry around inside, tied up in a burlap bag to give the tree some manure to break down into useful nutrients for growth and find a use for the more toxic of the thoughts I carry within.
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manure
songlets — GForce’s Sequential Prophet 5 demo
Yes, another assault on your senses and sensibilities for about a minute and a half — time, I might add, that you can never reclaim.
This one is more of my playing around with soundwave creation, this time using the demo version of a new emulation of the classic synth, the Sequential Prophet 5.
Name a band from the late 70s to the late 80s that had synths and you can bet that they wrote at least one song with the Prophet 5. While there are other emulations of this classic synth out there, GForce worked directly with Sequential to get as close as they could to the original and revised sound of the analogue synth. And then they added more optional stuff for funsies.
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songlets — GForce’s Sequential Prophet 5 demo
自然
there is only this —
i grasp for words,
those gnats dancing
on the quiet morning
between the perfume
of uncut grass, clover:
impossible to catch
or wave away
— a stillness, the only
act remaining
i let the gnats do
what gnats will do
leave the catching
to those who are
prone to catching,
whiling my time in
the wealdNote: 自然, or ziran (tzu-jan), is a Chinese word for the Taoism concept that refers to a state of “just-so-ness” or “as-it-is-ness”.
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自然
Catcher in the Rye revisited
Lily Meyer from The Atlantic went back and revisited The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger now that she was no longer an angst-ridden teen, but as an adult — both because it is the 75th anniversary since it was published, and because she wanted to see it with “adult” eyes.
And, in doing so, she found our famously cantankerous protagonist in the story to be less cynical than readers have generally allowed. Holden is very much against the fakers and phonies, but people generally overlook just what the character expected as part of a moral compass.
[…] I was struck not by what Holden is against but by what he’s for. Along with all of his rejections, Holden has a very clear set of ideas about what sorts of behaviors and activities and companions are correct. He doesn’t always live up to his own standards, but he never changes them; he certainly doesn’t give himself breaks. His monologue—the whole book is a monologue—is, in fact, a stream of statements about what’s worthwhile, more than what’s worthless.
Holden’s moral rigor is refreshing in a cultural moment marked by an unsettling mix of cynicism and heedlessness. […]
I will admit that I greatly admire Salinger’s stories, though you would likely be hard-pressed to see the impact of his influence on my own writing.
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Catcher in the Rye revisited
scuff toe waltz
we pad toe shuffle
we scuff shoe waltz
wet cobbles of night
hush now shush
be quiet or those
cats’ sharp claws
will rend, bite
thieves are we
of scuff shoe waltz
slick in wet cobbles
toe shuffle toe
toe shuffle weTo like, click comments or:
scuff toe waltz
hollow of tree
i was hollow of tree
all chicken wire & song
come that october country
of hoarfrost & dream
rime burnt leaves stained
gold to vermilion & bole
crumble wake perfumed
i waited there alone for
that coming of you
rook & madder
flint & score
crow & calling
bone & fall
i was hollow of tree
all chicken wire & song
waiting mists alone for
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hollow of tree
throwing hands
why write poetry at all
when there is the wind
that carries 'hallo hallo'
of the crow, high up in
the cottonwood tree, to me?
i throw both hands away
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throwing hands