post 14 october

justwrite 14 october

you have to plant the clover first if you want to grow that kind of luck you can duck but when the covers come up over your head you might as well have read a different book you can’t cook what you’ve got in mind if you can’t find better ingredients there’s no need for expedience here but it’s clear that there has got to be a direction we’re not looking to make corrections on something that exists but the truth is there’s still some looking to be done still some facts that haven’t been hung pictures unstrung from the rest of the reel and if you feel like it’s worthwhile to wake up then there’s no mistake to take up arms but here this means hands and fingers get to spilling out something more than canned sameness we stride about like blameless representatives of something that we can’t forgive we are playing into our own hands and it’s a sad land that comes up with that as a motto we cannot keep walking over the same bridge waiting for the next ridge to look right in the new light I am brighter than those doubts and I am putting trout into that stream I will not catch I can only release and this is how to sow to sew to put it out and bring together I am never forever about to forget this piece but for now and how and if I think too deeply it hits too steeply and I’m going down into the dark there are too many songs I need to not hear there are too many words that bring a dark fear a loneliness the risk of being forgotten I have nothing to offer to the space but the fear of being completely erased is one I can’t take on myself I need some help to stand on the right side on dry land because the founding fathers were floundering in water for a long time and they still are playing broken guitars and offering advice for shipwrecked souls we’re playing in the shallow shoals and if I should fall behind if I completely unwind back to that beginning it’s too much swimming for these arms it’s too charming to delete defeat and I wish I could bliss away the inbetween days now to whenever it’s all just calm and I wish you well and I can sit a spell and hear your name without a change in demeanor there’s a meaner side but the one I can’t hide is the sadder the matter the batter is baking but no idea what I’m making and will it be edible and is this evidence credible what to believe and nobody to deceive I am out in the open and the breeze is hoping to rustle up something worth reporting but now nothing distorted nothing gained in this single frame just the dreams upstreaming their way through the dark no paddles nowhere to park and all the runningwild wishes kissing each evening for the offer of quiet there’s no riot there’s no melting but the floating is ongoing and it’s not too peaceful knowing there’s less to hold on to if a stronger wind comes through

justwrite 13 october

sometimes my life is more interesting when my eyes are closed and strictly speaking I don’t mean those moments trying to achieve balance in a woodfloored mirrorwalled studio with ambient musics and I suppose speaking even more strictly would force me to admit it’s not my life but a series of abstract unconscious constructions tucked in by the day and awakened after all that’s taken place in the light is dropped for the night into the inbox to foxtrot and fandangle its way from that tray to some file but hardly the ranking kind and you must be blind if you’re not seeing I’m leaning toward dreaming as the source of interest each test passed on a given day may or may not matter but the scattering of the involved data when reincorporated later into some fictional framework shows just how well brainwork can become misdirected even in the day when I say if I play by these rules can we please fool me into not thinking about those blinking red lights well that’s the request the spark that ignites the right screw that turns burning a bridge built just yesterday but I mean to say that dreams fill my notebook in green ink just the black thinks itself out affords stable doubts and certain occurrences the sentences carried out each and every heavy on the way to end punctuation a final destination but this is information and not color when the green steams by these are images forgiven clips and borrowed lips collaged from the barrage of impulses registered not having stirred much there’s a hot rush of telling without plot points not quite out of joint but not a novel idea to anoint with a book deal a spinning wheel reeling offscreen and waiting to be examined to see what I mean