my recent attempt at connection.  theres a part of me, an old part, that says its me.  that im just plain unlovable.  thats the vintage tickertape, the classic reel.  but im discovering an even older part, wiser perhaps, that says be alive.  dont be a bit part in your own play.  these wonderful leaps i make some times, and even if i fall arms windmilling back so slow i dont even feel the time pass i remember being there.  Being There.  

ive got my life.  and sometimes i forget and  go smiling,  jousting windmills, quasimodo.  and i must not get it at all because i dont get it at all.  its a relief to return to the garden, walk the dog, kiss the kitchen floor.  a poorly assimilated alien.  theres the part that aches and its that hurt that feels good to rub it.  but i dont have to hurt there anymore.  because thats just where the old part wore through. 

shakedown and im wondering what to wear for the saturday night return debutante ball.  its like tv or processed food.  you can spend your entire life with it and you end up the hungry dead.  the wiser part says be alive.   

i use all my quotes for tumblr.  the bass player said i had the mark of cain.  this was high school, and i carried demian around for a decade, giving copies away like zippo lighters.  i listen to turcoaica angali and thats the density i deeply crave.  the sound packed together raindrops to waves and all the information of the birth of the world.  with derek those waves are light.  i discover king crimson.  that was your density, you said, king crimson and cnn and am radio.  and then the casting off with an omphalos tether into formless night.   dead on avenue d i got your rock.  i still remember the look in your eyes and the kitchen on pearl street over strawberry tea.  dig the olfactories, man.  moving out i found some works you had stashed.  i was peace and shelter.  when i turned you away you died. 

i went outside and dug around a little and realized its what i should be doing.  the purselane and pigweed little hydras my sweet tulsi and monarda and mugwort babies such different creatures than the sunflowers and the corn.  even one practically prenatal columbine pinched carelessly (what stratify?) into heat wave potting soil elbows out up against the edge of the pool, growing.   my wee white tomato allotted her own hoosie, and the gap in the sunflowers will stay so.  more nasturtium volunteers ill never need buy that seed again.  but pigweed and purselane like some sort of mulch my cultivator a square blade on a stick and i think about amending my soil and realize that ive become a person who can look forward.  my treasure lies in the now, but dread does not presage with every breath.  theres so much to learn in the time left.  im allowed to choose what to do.  im blessed with these fleeting little leaps, they save me like angels.  and theyre such basic things but things ive never known.  when i was very young they called me an old soul.  but im just a babe in the woods, only now understanding that there is no spoon.

tide comes up and my chirons in aries my moon is in pisces lilith in scorpio.  they get married moon void of course but so did we.  looking forward to afternoon coffee under the tree and a quiet friday.  it would be nice to know some folks, but thats not where i need to be.  i need to be here, now, they cast ashes wherever i went and im taking my cue.  something is obviously not ready.  thwarted aborted time-suck.  

dig your own garden.  

the sun is our star, radiating Life across a human infinitude.  

our heart is our sun.  

shine.

(for those of you playing at home, these photos are two weeks behind)