The Decades Roll

The decades roll

I look back

from 36

to 26

16 to 6

I am now sitting in A COMFORABLE GREENCOURDUROY chair

it is circular

concave like a satellite dish

It folds in half and has a green carrying case

I bought it at Target for 39 bucks

At 26 I would have been sitting in a different spot

maybe crosslegged on a bean bag meditation cushion

at a buddhist temple or retreat tent

weathering cold november nights

breath steaming

to keep the chill from the tip of my nose

or in the summer heat walking around a two story high golden reliquary monument

chanting the sacred sylables and watching my mind wander from past to present to future

in a slight of hand to keep my ever present yet ellusive core self concept intact by a constant soap opera like round of mental chatter and cognitive fabrications

At 16 still mushrooming out of adolescence with a vengence

the calm quiet bright eyed child

mutated like a buterfly into a lupa caterpillar and verging on larvae grub

that suddenly awoke to suburban enui and wanted to shock

the walls of social and personal compartmentalization

to wake up to complexitiy with the simple rages and naive lust and uncertainty

clear confusion and mistake making as a grand gesture of insolence

NOW i begin to think about the health of my aging parents and watch with

proud excitement at each new step my young nephews take

I am preparing to be married again next summer

and am settling into a very comfortable and reasonably appointed

home in the west central florida suburbs

unemployed

unencumbered

unhurried

underestimated

but not undone

Flute plays softly in the background

a fresh Himalayan breeze

blown across the dig-iverse

I must go witness the virtual

bloodshed

of community theater

from the distance of

an arm

and the breath

of the Rio Grande

Whatever that portends

Epic Writing Excerpts II-Moral Climax of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

After watching the Robert Burns PBS documentary on Mark Twain I was very moved by this excerpt and the story of Aunt Rachel the ex-slave.

So I decided to re-read Huck Finn and start this new thread to this blog on Epic Writing. One of the key observations made was that the difference between American writing and the previous Euro-centric literature was the impact of "Space and Race" This places Huck and Jim at the epicenter of the birth of American literature.

In my search for images I have serendipitously encountered a blog by Neil Moore a modern day Oddesey on the Mississippi at http://flashriversafari.wordpress.com/2009/08/21/islands-in-the-stream/#comment-113

3. It was a close place. I took . . . up [the letter I’d written to Miss Watson], and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: “All right then, I’ll go to hell”—and tore it up. It was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming.

Explanation for Quotation 3 >>

These lines from Chapter XXXI describe the moral climax of the novel. The duke and the dauphin have sold Jim, who is being held in the Phelpses’ shed pending his return to his rightful owner. Thinking that life at home in St. Petersburg—even if it means Jim will still be a slave and Huck will be a captive of the Widow— would be better than his current state of peril far from home, Huck composes a letter to Miss Watson, telling her where Jim is. When Huck thinks of his friendship with Jim, however, and realizes that Jim will be sold down the river anyway, he decides to tear up the letter. The logical consequences of Huck’s action, rather than the lessons society has taught him, drive Huck. He decides that going to “hell,” if it means following his gut and not society’s hypocritical and cruel principles, is a better option than going to everyone else’s heaven. This moment of decision represents Huck’s true break with the world around him. At this point, Huck decides to help Jim escape slavery once and for all. Huck also realizes that he does not want to reenter the “sivilized” world: after all his experiences and moral development on the river, he wants to move on to the freedom of the West instead.

Close

http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/huckfinn/quotes.html#explanation3

Epic Words-A Timeline of Great Writing. I. Gilgamesh

I thought this would be 

an interesting jumping 

off point for the exploration 

of Epic Writing. To compare and 

contrast with later ones.

Try to imagine the world 

that this was created out of

in 2000 BC approximately.

the address below will connect you with 

the extended text and commentary.

http://infomotions.com/etexts/gutenberg/dirs/1/1/0/0/11000/11000-8.htm

and http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/gilgamesh/quotes.html for quotes below.

Plot Overview
The epic’s prelude offers a general introduction to Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, who was two-thirds god and one-third man. He built magnificent ziggurats, or temple towers, surrounded his city with high walls, and laid out its orchards and fields. He was physically beautiful, immensely strong, and very wise. Although Gilgamesh was godlike in body and mind, he began his kingship as a cruel despot. He lorded over his subjects, raping any woman who struck his fancy, whether she was the wife of one of his warriors or the daughter of a nobleman. He accomplished his building projects with forced labor, and his exhausted subjects groaned under his oppression. The gods heard his subjects’ pleas and decided to keep Gilgamesh in check by creating a wild man named Enkidu, who was as magnificent as Gilgamesh. Enkidu became Gilgamesh’s great friend, and Gilgamesh’s heart was shattered when Enkidu died of an illness inflicted by the gods. Gilgamesh then traveled to the edge of the world and learned about the days before the deluge and other secrets of the gods, and he recorded them on stone tablets.

Important Quotations Explained

 
2. What could I offer

the queen of love in return, who lacks nothing at all?
Balm for the body? The food and drink of the gods?

I have nothing to give to her who lacks nothing at all.
You are the door through which the cold gets in.

You are the fire that goes out. You are the pitch
that sticks to the hands of the one who carries the bucket.

You are the house that falls down. You are the shoe
that pinches the foot of the wearer. The ill-made wall

that buckles when time has gone by. The leaky
water skin soaking the water skin carrier.
—Tablet VI
Explanation for Quotation 2 >>
 
4. As for you, Gilgamesh, let your belly be full,
Make merry day and night.
Of each day make a feast of rejoicing.
Day and night dance and play!
Let your garments be sparkling fresh,
Your head be washed; bathe in water.
Pay heed to a little one that holds on to your hand,
Let a spouse delight in your bosom.
—Tablet X
Explanation for Quotation 4 >>
 
5. And so they traveled until they reached Uruk.
There Gilgamesh the king said to the boatman:

“Study the brickwork, study the fortification;
climb the ancient staircase to the terrace;

study how it is made; from the terrace see
the planted and fallow fields, the ponds and orchards.

One league is the inner city, another league
is orchards; still another the fields beyond;

over there is the precinct of the temple. . . . ,
Three leagues and the temple precinct of Ishtar.”

Measure Uruk, the city of Gilgamesh
—Tablet XI

morning pages 8.23.09

Time and time again

coming back to the moment

left off yesterday and not quite over

waiting for this and that and coffee

no urge for much

of anything

just percolating

toward tomorrow

the last day of summer

everything shifts gears

and the hamster wheel cranks up again

like a the cotton candy spinner

squeezes out the fun from green to blue and white

yellow artificial joy

I am just happy for toast

good toast if a bit dry

and the butter chunky

wanting nothing in particular

just wondering when the waves of desire

will turn tide and the storms

of emotion will turn back

for landfall

perhaps I will be in the

mountains by then

or in a cell

or just driving up the coast

to escape the bad paintings

and poems

that follow and the mediocre meditation

that always gives way to giddy statements or errant

questions and dull clock watching

smelling the incense as if that is all the difference

but its no fun getting down on oneself that just

the flip side of the same narcissistic coin

the common coin of our realm

I me mine and not

thou you yours

Feung sway mirrors

babbbling fountains

unread newspapers

unanswered messages

no schedule

to rot to grow

to fornicate

to garden, eat

fall asleep

wake, shower

change into

fresh clothes

or watch tv

never mind

talk of plans

and the

travels of

dreaming

let the dew drops fall or dangle

I want to dance...

Mount Kailash Thangka by Andy Weber

"Just a little person" theme song lyrics from Synechdoche NYC

I'm just a little person,

One person in a sea

Of many little people

Who are not aware of me.

I do my little job

And live my little life,

Eat my little meals,

Miss my little kids and wife

And somewhere, maybe someday,

Maybe somewhere far away,

I'll find a second little person

who will look at me and say,

"I know you You're the one I've waited for.

Let's have some fun."

Life is precious every minute,

and more precious with you in it,

so let's have some fun

We'll take a road trip way out west.

You're the one I like the best.

I'm glad I've found you,

Like being around you

You're the one I like the best.

Somewhere, maybe someday,

Maybe somewhere far away,

I'll meet a second little person

And we'll go out and play.

written by jon brion, sung by deanna storey

You're Bob Dylan? NJ police want to see some ID

You're Bob Dylan? NJ police want to see some ID
Email this Story

Aug 14, 8:49 PM (ET)

By WAYNE PARRY

Rock legend Bob Dylan was treated like a complete unknown by police in a New Jersey shore community when a resident called to report someone wandering around the neighborhood.

Dylan was in Long Branch, about a two-hour drive south of New York City, on July 23 as part of a tour with Willie Nelson and John Mellencamp that was to play at a baseball stadium in nearby Lakewood.

A 24-year-old police officer apparently was unaware of who Dylan is and asked him for identification, Long Branch business administrator Howard Woolley said Friday.

"I don't think she was familiar with his entire body of work," Woolley said.

The incident began at 5 p.m. when a resident said a man was wandering around a low-income, predominantly minority neighborhood several blocks from the oceanfront looking at houses.

The police officer drove up to Dylan, who was wearing a blue jacket, and asked him his name. According to Woolley, the following exchange ensued:

"What is your name, sir?" the officer asked.

"Bob Dylan," Dylan said.

"OK, what are you doing here?" the officer asked.

"I'm on tour," the singer replied.

A second officer, also in his 20s, responded to assist the first officer. He, too, apparently was unfamiliar with Dylan, Woolley said.

The officers asked Dylan for identification. The singer of such classics as "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Blowin' in the Wind" said that he didn't have any ID with him, that he was just walking around looking at houses to pass some time before that night's show.

The officers asked Dylan, 68, to accompany them back to the Ocean Place Resort and Spa, where the performers were staying. Once there, tour staff vouched for Dylan.

The officers thanked him for his cooperation.

"He couldn't have been any nicer to them," Woolley added.

How did it feel? A Dylan publicist did not immediately return a telephone call seeking comment Friday.

moring pages 8.15.09

Inspired by Neruda's poem A Cat

shared by Aunt Linda

too much milk in my tea

too much food from last night

too much clutter

too much entropy

too much peace

Tracey plays piano in the next room

dogs pacing to go out and hunt lizards

I am poised to go to my meditation room

and hopefully my studio

not feeling touched by the muse

at all but perhaps just to play and pretend at it

spill and splash some colors

like an idle child

when did that adventuresome imagination grow up
where did it falter

what will come of its sound effect sword clashes

it rock and roll growls

its horseback rides through the woods

its journeys to the himalayas

its loves and hates

its chores and escapes

what of the striving student

of the earnest conversationalist

the curious ardent observer of art

the thirst of new musical sentiments

calloused over

sated?

Perhaps just pausing as a still pool

waits for a leaf of gold to leap to its heart and set a ripple in motion

toward god in a universe of swirling gem dust

Free Will Astrology

Visionary philosopher Buckminster Fuller said that "Pollution is nothing but resources we're not harvesting." If that's true, Cancerian, you've got a lot of resources available to you right now, although they will have to be converted from their smoggy and effluvial state. So for example, if you're a songwriter, the noxious emotions floating around could be raw material for a sparkling tune. If you're a lover, the peculiar vibes you're dealing with could inspire you to prevent a dumb pattern from repeating itself.

just before noon pages 8.8.09

Thanks to the noon day sun

and breeze gently fluttering

and the dogs settling

and pacing

and my mother and father

up north

and friends and family everywhere

and my fiancee still sleeping

sweetly upstairs

and the overly milky cup of tea

I am sipping

it is no great adventure

but it is a peaceful interlude

in the present moment

that does not push or pull

away like a leaf

just resting on the lazy current

of a sun speckled stream

row row row your boat

gently down the stream merrily

merrily merrily

life is but a dream

so taken in a small snapshot

before the gusts of business stir

this tranquil saturday

Afternoon Pages 8.5.09

King Procrastination
next lifetime
my math scores
will still be like pulling teeth

from a jack-o- lantern
yeah and spiting seeds of frustrated contempt
perhaps not so bitterly
as before
and will my art be better?

Will I fall like a ton of bricks over Niagra
for romantic songs
and come hither
eyes

another body
breaking like a barrel
on the rocks

silent cry of bubbles
and no more fidgeting
with belt buckles and bra straps
just water filling in the nostrils
and behind the eyes

dreaming of
a paper cup
outstretched to
a giraffes
tongue
cold fries
and a blue balloon
of helium
on my wrist

the silent movie
laughs
as the child me
does his Chaplin-esque
stagger

to old age and wisdom
the grandparent
the elder
the master
of illusions and traditions
gauze and gleam

I want the circus peanut
to be good for ever
but it can't
taste that way for ever
even if it never decays

because my tongue will

like ginger bread
ever slower
and more convoluted simpleton
eye buttons
to weep sprinkles
and cough marshmallow
just in
time to leave the afternoon
and drive into
evening
like a commuter
who is feeling the pang
at another day slipping through fingers

working for someone else
with his heart
not in his desk
but lost somewhere in the paper clips and attachments

between the drive way and the parking lot

and all the coffee
and bagels
and early morning radio laughter
can't coax the acid in the gut
to abate

as the roar of routine
deafens
like waves
that wash skulls like shells

and abrade our glass edged
hearts into granny glass
thoroughly salted

chewy
tough
tender
calloused

euphamisms
for life
like
slow motion popcorn

that night butters up
and hungrily devours
from all recall

of calendar days
blog entries

a digital
farting breath

to wiff on after we die
or kill off the coders
with wry vernacular

Morning Pages 8.3.09

wash the dogs under the hose

wake up to bugs

and yoga

and breakfast at the table

ready for monday

off on my own two feet

try to keep the crack in the lid

open to the sky

don't procrastinate

just take small bites

and chew

taste

digest

It is all going up on the

screen of life

with 6 senses

dont edit too much

or force thoughts

watch them pass

like clouds

keep blinking

breathing

move toward

being

ok

with

everything

even if your not

looking forward to the garden

and groceries

and lawn and laundry

and a song or a painting

and studying for math test

yuck

it is just another

language

of numbers

a game really

just play

and be amused

keep blinking and breathing

laugh a little

smile

nod of sleep for a moment

and back for more

of less

is more

Sisters Birthday!

Little snopes, H/ O, the curmudgeon

Pinky, Hopeless the hope of the world

penut in her nose, staple in her finger

removed with my pocket knife

afraid I would take her whole finger

two peas in a pod, pink magenta silver markers

bubble paint, stickers

the tike

cat lover, super mom

swing spinner

early riser

knee skateboarder, roller girl

big heart

eating andys mints tiny nibbles

vanilla slender bars

strawberry short cake, She Ra and My little Pony.

Bastet, PETA, Smashing pumpkins and Bananarama

Tina Turner, Debby gibson, Madonna, repeat and half song mix tapes as a kid

leg warmers and sweat pants

peering out behind long bangs

soccer mom, saftey mom,

librarian to Congress

world traveler, Europe, Kazakstan, California

body shop shopper, Gap,

Baretts, Kudos bars and

sharing sleeping her dry bag

in Shenandoah on

family camping

Military road room mates

Checking up on our parents

like secret agents trading info

Being proud of our little sister Maggie

seeing things the same but differently.

Teasing, threatening to shave her cats,

kicking, nuggies, gwampums, laughing hysterically

white wicker furniture, joan of arc poster family painting gallery

goal oriented, athletic, not eating well frozen vegetables

pretending to listen to her older brothers questionable advice

Trip to France together with Mo and Da

not guilting me about being a bad older brother

giving mom her old clothes

connect four, clue, monopoly always being the little dog

Russian scholar, academic, Emma, Emily Bronte

Leo the lioness, Big cat

Bannockburn, Pyle, Whitman, Mount St Mary's

UMD, Georgetown. Talking till past bedtime

the bear chair, having three holidays at moms dads and mo and das'

Laughing about Mom being right about us being best friends when we got older

even though we both swore it would never happen!

Love Ya Sis,

Big Bro