Monday, July 28, 2008

what does the fish in the tank know of me?

I am sitting outside on my deck - on Stimson Mountain - which is more like a really big hill...1960 feet at the top - I live at 1000 feet...there are small, but persistent mosquitos - not clumps, but a few (I hesitate to slap at them, but do, half-heartedly ( like i do my life))'s been a wet July - the river, more like a mountain stream - is running, aggresively, suggestively.

the sky is overcast, blue - baby blue - the kind of blue that is almost too light
mosquitos are coming now - 4 or 5 but not being attached...but it does look like they are sizing me up...
-I wonder what it would be like to make peace with the mosquitos -

my theatre is the forest - the green weave and the patterns of the verticle lines - in brown and white and black and grey...

Birds talk

My mind races - always.
it never stops
my dreams are vivid and real
and heavily connected to my waking life
in general

i am normally out in front of things - it is my way - because my mind does not stop - i can process human choice and emotion, thought...i can take ideas to fruition in my mind...

so i am normally out in front ...

I am writing this diary here, in this space - Beauhller...Beauhller - for a reason...and i am not quite sure what that is - i have been writing all my life...all my life...

my brother captured it today, as he usually does...

"i can't say what I want, but i can write it" - to paraphrase -

My writing is a clear expression of who I am and who i want to be
of who I try to be

it is a clear expression of how i see the world and is punctualized by the conflict between love and hate within me.

it is not everything i want to say but it's where i say what i want -

in fact - as my wife comes to the porch and begins, clack-clack, clack-clack, clack-clack, her just begun, newly excited, state of excersize...

in fact - my ego must be desperately screaming out for love in the form of response - or maybe that's the sub-ego - ...

i believe the bottom line is that I love to write and i want to be maybe one will facilitate the other...

I keep having this feeling like i am slipping away - slipping away -
like i am becoming "becoming!! - funny word"...irrelevant (nother funny word).,,

i could just be waking up to the freedom of my inconsequenchiality -

whatever the fuck that means - sounds like a "Shit-ton" of crap to me...

I am sitting on my porch - water falling down mountains
birds sing
in the forest
like the forest is singing
the green weave surrounds the baby blue and white
and sally and i converse on the nature of choice
cow flesh cooks on the grill -

we are unrepentant and ignorant children - kings in adult bodys
we live by the whim
and do not understand the world around us -
we are like fish in a tank - docile - disconnected from the broken table leg that holds the tank that will be knocked over by the family dog who was found in a gutter by the side of the road in Mexico and then flown to the US and now resides in a mountain home in Bolton, Vermont with the writer of this blog...

what does the fish in the tank know of me?
what does the US know of the world?

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