Zeroing In (Vlog)


Behold the power of nothing.


P.S. I have been spectacularly busy recently. While I’m determined to post more I have a new unexpected responsibility. Maybe I’ll fill everyone in at a later date. But mostly I’ll save my energy for more posts. Thanks for watching.


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Windowside Experiment 1.0 (Poem and Song)

(Got the 12 String fixed…so I put together this little number. It’s 432 hz because I’m a dirty hippy.)


Wasted Days

And golden Rays

Of Sunshine

When will I rise

To tow the drowning line

Long blonde hair

Wicker Chair

And summer Wine

Such malaise the milieu

It won’t be fine

Just lay here in the dew

And look through you

Into a parallel light filter

All the possibilities akilter

Window Windowside

Hey there

Wanna Go for a ride

Splitting rainbows

Let’s see

What providence sows

Talk to me

Tell

Show

Well

On high on low

Elaborate

Through

Labyrinth of rain

Tracing drops

On the window pain

Light refracted

Past redacted

Yet you still know my name

You still know your windowside

The hours that came

The way they’d glide


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Momiji Hazushi (Poem)

Image result for maple leaf autumn


The evening is a brush

That paints strange portraits

Wild scenes all in a rush

Of wonders, loves, and hates

Wind that passess between branches

Dwindling light a pattern maker

Cascades meaning in avalanches

Summon now the undertaker

For apathy has passed beyond 

We live in light we live in shadow

In a sacred sort of bond

Intermingling to glow

As crimson petal

Of the waxing maple

All in one and one in All


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The Hits (Poem)

 

Image result for gravity


You’re swimming in sentiment

Can’t reach reaction

Down in the basement

Gravity’s gaining traction

Would you say

Or would you sing

Would you play

Just for the ring

Fundamental symphony

How it orbits

Differs not in kind just by degree

These are the hits

They were the same

Till we showed up

And changed the name


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Tactile (Poem)

Get to Know a Variety of Maple Tree Species


There’s a lot to be said for tactile suggestion

How treading leaves with rubber soles

Is an eternal orientation

Contextualizing roles

The shoe, the man, the fall

Somewhere between specificity and ambiguity

Strange songs begin to call

Like myriad birds

Flitting in their season

Whether in fifths or thirds

They will seduce a novel reason

The sight and prickle of the holly

The wind whips between bare branches

Without melancholy

Yes, due to such stanchions

As the footfall and the dusk

All such touches all of natures kisses

Will breathe life into a husk

For touch is truth that never misses


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Chipping Paint

Related image


Small southern towns that bake beneath a low hanging sun. If you’ve seen them all then you haven’t seen any.

Did you ever sit under Magnolia blossoms, next to a jar of crickets, as your friend’s sister twirled on a tireswing. A tireswing that was just ten minutes walk from a swimming hole?

No, I’m not trying to sell you chewing tobacco or homemade jam.

I’m just wondering if these places are going to stay.

They were sort of our version of indigenous tribes deep in the Amazon. All sleepy in a blanket of humidity and cicada song. As primordial as discarded peach pits that take root.

Do you remember battered banisters, and the highest technology being a superninendo; that you soon abandoned to slide in your socks across a musty woodpanel floor? You know the sort of stuff you’d do as an ancient Sharpee named Midnight watched lazily from his post beneath a shuttered window.

If you don’t I guess it doesn’t much matter.

Cause every sacred rite of passage that a barefoot, cricket hunting, Red Ryder marksman fell into, climbed over, or set on fire is now forever bathed in the witching glow of LCD.

Unfortunately that’s not an illicit substance that will get you closer to nature. It’s mighty uncanny. This disembodied voice that colors every living moment in artificial omniscience.

The oaks are still majestic at the periphery of the pasture. The earth smells sweet. But there’s a tension even here.

The question is am I old. Or are we mad?


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Cager (Poem)

Image result for 19th century man


Overclocked machines

Stuffed to the brim

With numbered

Listlessness so grim

So grimly unencumbered

To trim

Cutting meaning into action

Assembled and compiled

For a smoother traction

Cager faintly smiled

The neatness the precision

How carefree

To live without decision

In the geometric See

The paths are set

Garbage collected

There’s no regret

No life so masterfully

Architected


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Cheesy Medical Drama Yello#5 – Saturday Night Freewrite

Image result for cheese


“The best thing you can do…?”

“I’m telling you what’s the best thing that you can do.”

“You think it’s knowing the signs of a subarachnoidal hematoma?”

“Fuck that.”

“The best thing you can do is tell me what you are!”

“No shutup, shut the fuck up…it’s a rhetorical command…shhh…don’t move those suppositories  ya call lips…fuckin kiss-ass…don’t even think about it…”

“Cause I’ll tell you what you are.”

“You’re worthless, you’re powerless, you’re a fraud, and the sooner you realize that the less people in this death camp disguised as a hospital are gonna croak. ”

“You chinless fucking boy-band reject. Fresh out of Harvard…well whoopdeefuckin doo.”

The chief resident pantomimed a vigorous jerk off session.

“Studied the sages under the seasoned? Yeah, well guess what they know? FUCK ALL.  And the good ones will be the first to tell you. But…hey…that doesn’t matter does it…cause you’re not listening…you weren’t listening then…and you aren’t listening now.”

“I mean Mrs. Bray has pneumonia! Why…? Acute stroke and now pneumonia. She wasn’t presenting any signs before. That means that’s hospital flora in her lungs! And how in the holy fuck did it get there?”

“Ahh uhh ahh uhh ooo….no dipshit it wasn’t you, or the nurse, it was entropy, the real God of this world. And you’d best bend that knee and kiss his ass cause that’s the only hope of salvation. You think these are machines we’re dealing with. You think that because we can reduce certain functions to a handful of variables…that we can control them. CONTROL IS THE FIRST ILLUSION!”


Ok, so I had a rather late start on my WordPressing tonight. This was due to a combination of music practice (I still suck but I realize how much so that’s progress), nerdy ass PHP lessons, weight-training, and dishes. Holy shit do those fuckers stack up fast. I might go back to bankrupting myself with meals at the pub.

Anywho. The above snippet is just something I pulled from my subconscious as I was pondering what to do with the Sketch of Sam Monroe. It’s completely unrelated to that novel but emerged as a sort of overflow from the aforementioned brainstorm session.

I suddenly recalled Antonio Damasio’s books popularizing neurology and his findings in that field. I remembered how he talked about the immense gaps in understanding that we have surrounding consciousness and even less intangible things.

This tied in neatly with thoughts that I’d been having about how we are all still children playing on the shore. The latter concept being something from a poem or something from a something. The source is not as important as the message.

Because it communicates that the world is indeed mysterious and our grasp of it is indeed tenuous. So maybe some reverence is due?

I know that entropy can be overwhelming. That the sense of the loss of control can lead to anxiety and depression.

But just like in Jujitsu sometimes in order to get out of the grip of your opponent you have to get closer.

So the moral of this story is that we should embrace the knowledge of our ignorance and not look to oracles in lab coats. Because the oracles only know a few more tricks than the average schlemiel.

This is not to poo-poo medical professionals and scientists but to merely acknowledge that they’re less magicians and more mountain-climbers who are subject to scrapes, slips, and downright tumbles into the abyss.

So hopefully I left you more entertained this evening than you previously were. And that maybe you found some food for thought in here.

While I’m here I might as well throw a few bones to fellow writers who are thinking about writing an actual medical drama and not just a cheesy writing exercise.

Check out these links I found while looking for realistic medical scenarios to use in fiction.


Medical References for Wirters

https://www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/by-writing-goal/improve-my-writing/how-to-use-facts-in-your-fiction

https://redwoodsmedicaledge.com/

https://writersforensicsblog.wordpress.com/


P.S. I was listening to Elliot Smith, Jeff Buckley, and Mazzy Star while writing this. All very nineties stuff. The asshole chief resident is based on Dr. Cox from that 90’s acoustic radioshow called Scrubs.

P.P.S. Just to piss of atheists and Jesus simultaneously for using Jesus quotes on this Pascha while remaining a staunch heathen here is a verse that IMO really fits the mood of letting go to gain a profounder wisdom.

25 “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.


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Eyes on the East (Poem)

daffodils


O you voices of wonder….

Pour out your splendour !

All through the hills…

O sweet and tender!

Reedy and ready…

How the wind fills!

Various yet steady…

Eyes on the East!

Shine stars o shine…

From greatest to least!

All down the line…

Herald the dawn!

Impulse for dancing…

Sundays sweet fawn!

Tender is glancing…

Fresh wine is drawn!

O you voice of wonder…

Pour out your splendour!

Cast down your hilts…

Sing that great ardour!

That drones and that lilts…

It’s never harder!

Than at twilight…

But if faith will continue!

The Sun is our sight…

Shine on o shine on true!

Voices of wonder …

Pour out your splendour!

All through the hills…

Curtains are thrust back !

Exploding as Daffodils…



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The Unfamiliar (Poem)

Image result for russian blue


What are you?

O you distant light…

What’s this difference with which you…

Tantalize my sight?

Is it true,

What they say about the might?

That it’s blue.

Blue like indecision peering over a great height?

The sort of hue,

that doesn’t assert right.

Just let’s it hang till true,

releases knuckles painted white.

To give view,

To give way to clearer sight.

Image result for blue space


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