Everything is so small this year intimate and compact subdued and somber softened and muted unlike last year which in hindsight seems so overblown alive and kicking, confidence awash with color and light and what of the New Year uncertain and undetermined unsettled and unresolved all the world suspended but in this moment of this year with the dogs playing on the carpet kids on their way over to open presents chill in the air and coffee brewing it is all to easy to forget that it has always been this way the not-knowing, not-seeing the thrill of the unknown but the anticipation is different this year the more things change the unbearable heaviness of the loss of faith in everything gasping for air while breathing freely is the order of the day where the only solution that makes sense is to keep breathing and like a slow train comin' 'round the bend we wait and we wonder exactly what the future will hold, knowing full well that everything matters, and nothing does.
As it turns out, I don't need to be Alice chasing the White Rabbit into his burrow to get lost in my own private rabbit hole of curiosity and trivia, blindly chasing links that interest or amuse me, in much the same way leafing randomly through a book of art might. It starts innocently enough - "rabbit hole" leads to "burrow" which is a tunnel excavated by any number animals - rabbits, chipmunks, prairie dogs, moles - and the difference between vertebrate burrows and those dug by invertebrates is not for the squeamish so I'm off to learn about subterranean fauna, such as stygofauna and troglofauna, and the fascinating ecological and environmental classifications of each one, and how subterranean fauna have evolved in isolation due to stratigraphic barriers, and that leads to the New Zealand Speleological Society and their recreational caving activities, promoting cave conservation along with its counterparts the British Cave Research Association (and how fun would it be to explore caves in the UK!) and the National Speleological Society, but hey what about The Crown Minerals Act of 1991? It was here I learned that Xena: Warrior Princess (or at least the actress who portrayed her, Lucy Lawless) is a New Zealander and was opposed to the subsequent passage of the 2013 amendment that promoted increased prospecting and exploration and also that her middle name is Frances, and that she is a singer who played Rizzo in a Broadway revival of "Grease" which incidentally included additional songs written by Jon Farrar, the Australian producer who was largely responsible for one of the albums from my formative years "Physical" by Olivia Newton-John, who in addition to having a phenomenal singing voice, has been awarded both the Order of Australia (AC) and the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (DBE) which might explain why she has never answered any of the love letters I've sent to her over the years but neither has the Electric Light Orchestra, whom Livvy (as her friends call her) worked with on the Xanadu soundtrack but in their defense, I've never actually written to Jeff Lynne or Bev Bevan or Roy Wood, and in actuality I never wrote to Livvy either, I just said that to make the joke
Took a break from writing this weekend to record one of my favorite songs, Del Amitri’s “Kiss This Thing Goodbye” – hope you enjoy it!
The yards across the street that encapsulate the view from my four tall living room windows are all slightly sloped towards the street that separates their houses from mine and they are all facing to the north and this late in the season the snow from last week still coats their yards in a blanket of white while my yard, and those of my neighbors to the east and west, are mostly exposed again and the leaves which I neglected to rake before the storm arrived are once again visible in the late morning sun and my yard is now golden orange, in direct contrast to the faded black asphalt of the street that separates their houses from mine and as that woman from two blocks over strolls by in the late morning chill, pushing her stroller with two children and three dogs on leashes obediently keeping pace, she waves and I wave back, her bundled up against the cold and me in the relative warmth of my living room, we are both startled by a loud crash as the sun melts another patch of snow from my roof and it crashes to the ground with a loud thud! and we both smile at the temporary cacophony of nature asserting its will before she trundles on, kids and dogs in tow, mostly likely to get her steps in.
Are we a puzzle to solve or has it all been puzzled out already? Should I refrain from this exercise or has our refrain already been sung? Are we officially sanctioned or will we face sanctions? Will the divine oversee us or has there been some oversight? Is this all we have left or have we left it all behind? Am I just dust accumulating in your mind or have you already dusted away my memory? Have I seeded your clouds with lustful rain or has my passion been seeded from your heart? Shall I trim your life with my love or have your trimmed me from all you hold dear? Am I resigned to be nothing to you or have I been resigned to your training squad? Are the days moving too fast or should I hold fast to us? Can you help me understand this? (sorry, I can't help being vague) Are we really going anywhere or is this whole thing about to go? Are we bound for paradise or are we bound to fail? Are we as solid as the proverbial rock or has our boat already begun to rock? (This all strikes me as odd as if I'm awaiting my third strike) Will you wear my love as a badge of honor or has it already begun to wear on you? Are you going to wind me up or is this how we were always meant to wind up? Will we weather this round or will we be weathered away? Are we making history or are we history?
In my next life, perhaps I would like to be sansevieria trifasciata, sitting happily over in the corner soaking up the sunshine occasionally enjoying a sip of water eating once in the spring showing off my white flowers with much pride, or perhaps dieffenbachia, a big ol' dumb cane plant oh, how fitting a name! hiding in the darkness, allowed to snack twice a week, sometimes thrice waiting for the cat to take a bite and be silenced! or perhaps epipremnum, sitting on your windowsill as you make lunch, or maybe dinner, not judging you for using too much salt in that soup or casserole, you do you! basking in the fluorescent light of your kitchen, or perhaps beaucarnea recurvata, ostensibly because I, too, love the light but not the heat, and don't require excessive hydration, and like me is is considered a variety of succulent, but mostly, if I were to be truthful, because I have always wanted a ponytail, or perhaps ficus elastica, hiding from the world outside behind your curtain sheers, needing more care in summer than winter, my dark burgundy leaves accentuating your decor, unique and bold, and to be honest, hands-off care, but not spathyphillum, if only because there is almost nothing about me that says peace, but perhaps aloe vera would suit me best, at your beck and call when you need the healing touch of my gooey innards although have a care and do not judge me by my thorns alone.
Here is the video for my poem, “Late afternoon at Boots Adams Park” – if you like what you see/hear, please consider subscribing not only to this blog, but to my YouTube channel as well!
I am not a fan of country music misogyny isn't really my jam but I'm glad it's yours I don't care for scary horror movies life is scary enough and I'm envious that yours is less so I do not enjoy discussing politics I can never convince you how wrong you are, nor will you convince me Religious topics are a non-starter for me, it is such a highly personal thing to believe in an all-knowing Santa Claus Dogs v. cats is such a silly discussion as if neither have anything going for them or against them, when it comes down to that I do not really care if you deny the fact that Die Hard is a Christmas movie equal to none we all celebrate the holidays differently But don't you dare come into my house and declare the superiority of raised doughnuts over cake because if you do, then you had better be well-versed in sign language because you are about to catch these hands
I often dwell as I’m wont to do on the memory of you, the memory of us of our first meeting in the produce aisle of our favorite store and lunch afterwards, where I gave you my heart without even realizing it I often dwell as I’m wont to do on the colour and the shape of you the sound of your voice the touch of your hand the smell of your skin the taste of your mouth our first touch our first kiss our last kiss I often dwell as I'm wont to do on how it ended and why it had to end and how much I’d give to have the chance to go back in time (as if I were a science fiction character or the lovelorn protagonist in a movie) and take you in my arms once more and look into your eyes hands in mine bodies pressed together and tell you how much I would miss you if you ever left me because I know now how much I miss you every day every night and how much I need to how much I want to be with you.
O! to be so carefree as to be able to curl up on some random spot on the rug and ignore the world or stretch out on a favorite place on the sun-drenched wood floor or wander the carpeted halls with no real worries, goals, stress, fear or gaze lazily out the window until that damn squirrel shows its face again or bound out the glass door barely flung open yelling at the rabbits to clear the yard! or appear as if a ghost at someone's side to receive an affectionate pat on the head or pad up and down the stairs out of boredom (and not some imaginary steps goal) or announce to the neighbors I'm here! from the other side of the backyard fence or really anything other than what I'm doing now.
how I would love to be able to hang a sign around my neck (three little words) and wear it outside to let everyone know that I am really not feeling it today and probably will not be feeling it tomorrow either or even the day after that although I may be getting ahead of myself there I would still like to inform you (in the general sense, not you specifically) that for today at least and most likely tomorrow as well I will not be taking your calls I will not be answering your texts I will not be able to respond to your questions or concerns which you would already know if you would only take a moment to focus not on my face, my mouth or my eyes (and certainly not my nose, you know how self-conscious I am about that) but rather if you could take but the briefest of moments to read the three little words around my neck announcing to anyone who takes the time to notice these sort of things that I am currently out of order.
Approximately three hundreds yards from where I sit just down the street to the east seven or eight houses down from mine lies a barren, pristine white field My own little public hundred acre woods except it is significantly smaller and there are but few trees and other flora but otherwise, exactly the same We approached it in late afternoon while the snow was still falling and the cold wind blew and the grey sky above the barren, pristine, snow-covered field Across the field we can see a small rabbit sticking his head up over the ridge wondering where all the dead grass has gone and where are all the leaves that only yesterday had covered everything The blanket of snow, untouched as of yet by groups of screaming kids by gangs of bothersome teenagers by parents and grandparents watching their kids slide down the hill And beyond the wrought iron fence on the other side silent foggy windows of townhomes blasting heat cars and trucks unmoving, covered in snow a dog yipping somewhere past that wanting to come out to play And as the snow lets up and the wind dies down leaving the snow surface of the field smooth and almost-glassy, as if some great broom in the sky had taken one last swoosh across the landscape We stand on the edge of the sidewalk and he pulls, impatiently, expectantly in the late December late afternoon so I reach down to unclip leash from collar and he bolts off to teach the rabbit the error of his ways