“THERE WAS NO COLLUSION!”
“THERE WAS NO COLLUSION!”
I nudge my cardiovascular system by extending my daily journey from the Dark Kitchen Room to The Light Room Of Many Windows and the kitchen and the light room of many windows and…the… It sure is bright in there. There’s a world of difference between them. Both serve a purpose. But really. Who would choose to volunteer for such an experiment? The Study Of Adaptation From The Perspective Of Extremes.
Once I complete the journey, I’m back to my steadfast routine. Sometimes I cook. But mostly, I nurse a mug of espresso and consume lots of cigarettes and swirl ideas above my head. The dark kitchen room is a good way to transition from sleep to wakefulness. It has no light. Not a single window. And some icons covered in spider-webs stuck in a corner. It’s thoroughly dank. However, you never have to fear you’ll wake up blinded down here. It’s impossible.
Along with the diet of dank corners, you get to experience and taste dank thoughts. Who would’ve ever thought you’d end up doing this? I see one hand raised. Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence.
It’s no different than living in a cave – though I have never lived in one. The chief resemblance is the dampness, the darkness, the absence of life. So you finally understand your sole mission and what isn’t. It was not as you had imagined. There were no ballerinas there. There were no canvases filled with brilliant colors. However, music was the nearby thread to the world of Living things. Some of the music was dank. But most of it wasn’t.
In the damp winter months by the sea
where you are comforted by rain
I awaken well before dawn
usually chilled by the air –
insulated as much as possible
by shirts and undershirts and sweaters
under a robe –
and crank-up the heat.
My mind slowly drifts from puzzling dreams
vaguely remembered –
Darkened by the night of the sea.
So it’s time for caffeine.
The strongest of them all –
a mug of espresso made on the stove-top –
Time to sip away dark moments
and prepare for the Sun
When the forecast calls for rain.
A morning such as this will not deter the fisherman with a spear, or the old man taking his final steps on our shores, while a stranger stumbles into town, with purposeful gait, the weary traveler, suitcase in each hand, and heads to sea.
Squeezing Ink From A Pen
As I send away the past
While in the air
And welcome tomorrow –
Everything must go to the file:
Lessons Passed and Failed
Before you can pass through
The gate of enlightenment.
The gates of the Sun.
And paste a new Vision
To the wall.
Morning Prayer: Reasoning with God
Please, God, send me something good today. You can’t expect me to suffer indefinitely. That’s not fair. Besides, I’m open to it.
A Woman In Line
To get an audience with the tax collectors in Athens, you have to get in line, as early as 5AM, to get a piece of paper with a number – your personal number – penciled on it. It’s the line for the hottest show in Athens, where citizens who provide amusement for those in Power are part of every act, – “Shades of The Greek Government”
(A WOMAN IN LINE)
“It’s a Thursday. And it’s February, so I didn’t have to get here at 5am – which is good, you know – but I was here before 7am, and it’ll be an hour before I get my ticket, and I can get outta here for a while.”
“Where exactly are you now?”
“Well, now, I’m gonna head back there and probably wait for another hour-and-a-half before I
actually see anybody. And then, maybe they can help me. But you never know.”
(ONE DAY LATER)
“Yeah, well, yesterday didn’t go so well. So, yeah, I’m still in line.”