Enjoy it, Wireman - it's cold up here day after fucking day no breaks the winter just won't let go - I'm still burning firewood 24/7 even on the days when the sun is out - it's snowed all day on three of the last five days - no break at all is what's getting to me, not since March began infuckingcredible - ugh! the winds out of the north or northwest every damn day and those winds are cold - it can't be any colder in Mongolia than it is right fucking here right fucking now!
UGH - I'm glad I got that off my chest - to get snow on Memorial Day wouldn't surprise me one damn bit -
Zuihitsu
Moderator: the mingo
Re: Zuihitsu
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Zuihitsu
You & me both, El Mingo - even on the rare sunny days, it barely gets above freezing - not warm enough nor for long enough to melt this fucking ice. Can't walk because the ice is only intermittent. If I wear my cleats, I'll ruin them on the bare dirt. If I don't I'll break my fucking neck on the ice. They say it might nudge up into the 50s by late week, but I'll believe that when I see it. This winter has definitely overstayed its welcome.
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"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
Re: Zuihitsu
I hear that Roy - if I have any mind left when and if the season finally changes I'll consider myself lucky
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Zuihitsu
Aaaand - mirabile dictu, it has just begun to snow again.......
My daughter just wrote me to let me know she's seen a California Giant Salamander, and wondered if our Jeffersons or wood frogs have emerged yet. The vernal pool where the latter congregate each spring is still frozen solid, We'll be lucky to see/hear them at all this year, I'm afeared....
My daughter just wrote me to let me know she's seen a California Giant Salamander, and wondered if our Jeffersons or wood frogs have emerged yet. The vernal pool where the latter congregate each spring is still frozen solid, We'll be lucky to see/hear them at all this year, I'm afeared....
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
Re: Zuihitsu
same here same here - all morning long in waves - this shit needs to be shut down or somebody please set me up with a lobotomy
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Zuihitsu
Word Doodle -
The ship is idiotic, the inlay bouncy, secretive - go to a graveyard, celebrate your new address / you can manage the scattered with a handy birth - every low fruit is fearless you can point and repair the sub-orbital love affair with migrations and look pushy into the cave o the cave nights! no stars! pumping the well with an old-fashioned hand-operated pump up the jam snakes eating peanut butter extra small - random wash holiday fish, ill-informed but intelligent enough to shed the patch monkey before hope becomes abusive and you forget how much fun can be had wagging your doll among the short-cash crowd for your own driving amusement
Could riff this all the way to Paris. Or, at least, to Montreal but I'll be having my chalk nap now.
The ship is idiotic, the inlay bouncy, secretive - go to a graveyard, celebrate your new address / you can manage the scattered with a handy birth - every low fruit is fearless you can point and repair the sub-orbital love affair with migrations and look pushy into the cave o the cave nights! no stars! pumping the well with an old-fashioned hand-operated pump up the jam snakes eating peanut butter extra small - random wash holiday fish, ill-informed but intelligent enough to shed the patch monkey before hope becomes abusive and you forget how much fun can be had wagging your doll among the short-cash crowd for your own driving amusement
Could riff this all the way to Paris. Or, at least, to Montreal but I'll be having my chalk nap now.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Zuihitsu
had a girlfriend who used to riff like this - free-association word salad - I tried it a few times, wasn't very good at it - left brain kept getting in the way. Maybe I'll try again (offline), see what comes out.....
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
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creativesoul
- Posts: 4650
- Joined: September 15th, 2005, 3:23 am
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Re: Zuihitsu
I guess sailing has its moments
reason is over rated, as is logic and common sense-i much prefer the passions of a crazy old woman, cats and dogs and jungle foliage- tropic rain-and a defined sense of who brings the stars up at night and the sun up in the morning---
Re: Zuihitsu
Hell, the right brain gets in the way too, just pillage & plunder, set the villages on fire and put the cities to the torch - Hell yeah, Mongolia !
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Zuihitsu
... and moments have their sails
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Zuihitsu
Lucid dream....
I'm climbing around in the sprawling ruins of an unfinished home. It seems to have features of my childhood home in Walpole (the back staircase, the multiple entries) and of the house in Westmoreland (the curious little linen closet connecting my brother's room to our sister's). Somehow in my dream-state, these two houses are conflated into one.
I am warned to avoid the stairs, but they seem robust enough despite there being no risers. I'm more alarmed by the floor on one level - flimsy lath slats spaced widely apart. I scurry up the stairs to the next level where the floor is firmer.
"You know," I tell my brother, "I'm dreaming all this - it isn't real." But he doesn't answer - he seems not to have heard me at all. Perhaps, I think, when two people are simultaneously dreaming the same thing, it isn't possible to transfer information from one dreamer to the other.....
I'm climbing around in the sprawling ruins of an unfinished home. It seems to have features of my childhood home in Walpole (the back staircase, the multiple entries) and of the house in Westmoreland (the curious little linen closet connecting my brother's room to our sister's). Somehow in my dream-state, these two houses are conflated into one.
I am warned to avoid the stairs, but they seem robust enough despite there being no risers. I'm more alarmed by the floor on one level - flimsy lath slats spaced widely apart. I scurry up the stairs to the next level where the floor is firmer.
"You know," I tell my brother, "I'm dreaming all this - it isn't real." But he doesn't answer - he seems not to have heard me at all. Perhaps, I think, when two people are simultaneously dreaming the same thing, it isn't possible to transfer information from one dreamer to the other.....
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
Re: Zuihitsu
April 22, Earth Day. I just noticed that HEART = H + (EARTH - H). Probably just a curious linguistic coincidence.
The early morning sun is strong in a cloudless sky, but there's still frost in the shade, and the chilly light breeze out of the northwest watering my eyes convinces me to wear gloves on our morning walk. All the same this is the first day this year that I get away with wearing a light fleece over a t-shirt instead of the heavy leather flght jacket I've been wearing.
Dog feels it too. He strains at the leash no matter how hard I snap it back or how loud I bark at him to cut it out. His nose is to the ground and he races from one side of the road to side, most likely sniffing out the perpetrators of the fresh deer tracks in the hardening mud.
I think this will be a good day to clean up roadside trash.
So after breakfast I engage the usual lockdown protocols to Kane-proof the house during my absence and head back out to scour my mile of road. It's actually only a little over a half-mile, but I'm including the return trip on the other side. Adam & Kelly are returning from Mass, and stop, concerned that Kane has gone AWOL again. Not this time, I assure them, and hoist a bag holding my collection of aluminum beer cans and KFC plastic cups. Linda's out raking along the stone wall and asks the same.
There doesn't seem to be as much trash this year as I've gathered in the past. Of course I can't retrieve what might still lie hidden under the remaining snowbanks, but I'm not clambering over the stone walls lining the road to fetch refuse from the woods beyond, nor scrambling down embankments to pluck beer cans from the swamps below. As despicably lazy as they are, the litterers seem to be getting even moreso, lacking the energy the hurl their empties from the car and settling instead on passively dropping them from an opened window. Still, I net a respectable haul of two paper shopping bags of stuff: 26 aluminum cans, 3 glass bottles, 3 plastic bottles, and handful of assorted items including a plastic makeup compact, a plastic shopping bag, a 10W-30 bottle, and an empty Marlboro pack.
I also notice that 14 of the 26 aluminum cans once held Bud Lite - the beer for people who don't like beer, those backroad gourmands whose pickup trucks are so full of C&W CDs and ammunition boxes that they've no choice but to jettison their empties into somebody else's front yard. (It's an observation I've made before, viz. http://youtu.be/5eBywRrWf4o)
But the highlight of the day comes on my final return home, with my mailbox in sight just a few hundred feet away:
With this sound, I know winter is over. I don't recall them ever being this late. We usually hear them by the 1st week of the month.
The early morning sun is strong in a cloudless sky, but there's still frost in the shade, and the chilly light breeze out of the northwest watering my eyes convinces me to wear gloves on our morning walk. All the same this is the first day this year that I get away with wearing a light fleece over a t-shirt instead of the heavy leather flght jacket I've been wearing.
Dog feels it too. He strains at the leash no matter how hard I snap it back or how loud I bark at him to cut it out. His nose is to the ground and he races from one side of the road to side, most likely sniffing out the perpetrators of the fresh deer tracks in the hardening mud.
I think this will be a good day to clean up roadside trash.
So after breakfast I engage the usual lockdown protocols to Kane-proof the house during my absence and head back out to scour my mile of road. It's actually only a little over a half-mile, but I'm including the return trip on the other side. Adam & Kelly are returning from Mass, and stop, concerned that Kane has gone AWOL again. Not this time, I assure them, and hoist a bag holding my collection of aluminum beer cans and KFC plastic cups. Linda's out raking along the stone wall and asks the same.
There doesn't seem to be as much trash this year as I've gathered in the past. Of course I can't retrieve what might still lie hidden under the remaining snowbanks, but I'm not clambering over the stone walls lining the road to fetch refuse from the woods beyond, nor scrambling down embankments to pluck beer cans from the swamps below. As despicably lazy as they are, the litterers seem to be getting even moreso, lacking the energy the hurl their empties from the car and settling instead on passively dropping them from an opened window. Still, I net a respectable haul of two paper shopping bags of stuff: 26 aluminum cans, 3 glass bottles, 3 plastic bottles, and handful of assorted items including a plastic makeup compact, a plastic shopping bag, a 10W-30 bottle, and an empty Marlboro pack.
I also notice that 14 of the 26 aluminum cans once held Bud Lite - the beer for people who don't like beer, those backroad gourmands whose pickup trucks are so full of C&W CDs and ammunition boxes that they've no choice but to jettison their empties into somebody else's front yard. (It's an observation I've made before, viz. http://youtu.be/5eBywRrWf4o)
But the highlight of the day comes on my final return home, with my mailbox in sight just a few hundred feet away:
With this sound, I know winter is over. I don't recall them ever being this late. We usually hear them by the 1st week of the month.
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
Re: Zuihitsu
Hell yeah Mongolia!
Let the golden eagle fly
Let the golden eagle fly
me I feel like I'm becoming some kinda Kung fu t.v. Priest.....
Re: Zuihitsu
Been out bike riding the last week - trying to clean up my kitchen - my mother spinning in her grave if she could see - how did I get like this?
Poetry ruined me. That's it !
Poetry ruined me. That's it !
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Zuihitsu
Bill died this past weekend.
He'd been a fixture on this road even before my wife and I moved here forty years ago. He lived with his mom and occasionally his young son in the gray Colonial opposite the big field, where the pavement ends and the road continues as a gravel track. A quiet man, so soft spoken he could be hard to understand, he kept to himself, but didn't hesitate to help out whenever he could... like the time the hollow flooded, making the road impassable - he let me park in his field, whence it was just a half-mile walk (or less) to my house; or hand-delivering any mail delivered to him by mistake. He was a good neighbor.
We walk by his house every morning on our way to the lake, Dog and I, and I know he sleeps in, so I keep my voice low to urge my companion on to find a less conspicuous place to poop - and even though Bill cannot be roused from this deeper, more permanent slumber, the habit persists. Whoever occupies the gray Colonial next will have to accept that it will always be known hereabouts as Bill's House.
He'd been a fixture on this road even before my wife and I moved here forty years ago. He lived with his mom and occasionally his young son in the gray Colonial opposite the big field, where the pavement ends and the road continues as a gravel track. A quiet man, so soft spoken he could be hard to understand, he kept to himself, but didn't hesitate to help out whenever he could... like the time the hollow flooded, making the road impassable - he let me park in his field, whence it was just a half-mile walk (or less) to my house; or hand-delivering any mail delivered to him by mistake. He was a good neighbor.
We walk by his house every morning on our way to the lake, Dog and I, and I know he sleeps in, so I keep my voice low to urge my companion on to find a less conspicuous place to poop - and even though Bill cannot be roused from this deeper, more permanent slumber, the habit persists. Whoever occupies the gray Colonial next will have to accept that it will always be known hereabouts as Bill's House.
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710
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