Zuihitsu

[judih]

ok. back home after a sojourn of unexpected days attached to a student trip to albany -thought of you, mingo, not as far away as usual. Smelt that autumn soil and the fragrance of wet maple leaves and had a sudden burst of tears. How i miss fall. we don't do north american soil smells over here in the desert.
ahhhhh, just the thought. mmmm-hmmmmmmmmm

dear sister in light. it always seems that compromise is parts of life's hand which it deals. feelings and emotions are so potently powerful. so profound. if only that energy could be harnessed in a newclear way...

take cares. be safe. thank you for be-ing.

appreciate your words, wylde. If only - how true - if only we could harness that wave of power that sweeps over and infiltrates and explodes - emotion that runs from dimension to dimension. The things that I loved as a child remain fresh and ready for re-ignition.
Is it the same with you?

[the mingo]

Past midnight - my sleep all fucked up - yes judih, most of the leaves are on the ground now and the scent of their passing back into earth is heavy in the air - a sweet smell, no bitterness - Good Gawd, wylde, you went back to the very first post ?! In the beginning was the zuihitsu

Out on a ride today - you see, hear, smell, so many things on a bike - I think I will remember it all by the time I get home but I'm lucky to remember one thing out of any of it - and I hardly ever do - Vonnegut said the brain was too high-powered to be of any practical use - gotta agree - the brain is a wild animal constantly at the call of the subconscious whose wildness is deep indeed - autumn is a time of gathering things and a time to throw things away -

I tried bringing a small notebook with me on the rides to jot things down as they happen but I had to stop every other minute to write and it became a bother - just another fuck-all Hollywood dream - there are still Monarch butterflies out and about - today one rose from the shoulder of the road on my approach to brush my face with its wings - I said to him "Hey, what you still doin' here? This is central New York and damn near November, you should be in Mexico by now" - the butterfly went off singing: "Cisco Kid was a friend of mine" - they stay too long and I find them after a frost froze to death on trees and grass stalks - talk about surreal - Ikkyu said: "Nature is a killer, I won't sing to it." Ha! you got that right, ya ol' zen goof! Hell yeah, Mongolia!

If you go right at the crossroads just over the hill you will come to a church full of Fellowship Baptists - these guys - I've had talk with their pastor, a young guy - I was going through the old graveyard next to the church a year past and he came out of the church to offer me a Krispy Creme donut -
so we talked - the graveyard is old, some of the folks buried there were born in the 18th century - I asked the pastor if he knew he had folks there who fought in the Revolutionary War - he said "No" then asked if there were more than one - I said "Three" - then thanked him for the donut mounted my bike and rode on - hell, in the 18th century this place was nothing but trees & rivers & streams & creeks -

and Indians - real live non-cellphone carrying Indians - and none of them drove minivans either -

I think I want a minivan - thinking it might be just the thing to carry my bike to the offroad trails north of me further up the Tug - I've priced used trucks what a wazoo story that is - rusted out old trucks go for several thousand dollars now - WTF! The used minivans are much cheaper.

Never thought I would want a minivan.

[sasha]

First frost. 30 degrees this morning (-1 C) - by March, this will feel tropical, but I haven't yet acclimated, and headed out attired in gloves, headband, and heavy winter-weight coat. Also strange to be out so early - just two days ago, it was still dark at 7 am. Today the sun was peeking through the trees behind Soules' house. The hitch, of course, is that by 4:30 it's crossed the sky, and settling towards the horizon. Before too many days, it'll be dark by then.

I've taken advantage of the few sunny days allotted to us this week by washing my bedding, and putting on the winter blanket. The summer blanket is drying on the line now, and will go back into storage by the end of the day. Except for a few towels, the laundry hamper is finally empty. I'd prefer drying them on the line as well, but the shower curtain rod will have to do.

Snow in the forecast for Friday...

...and so it begins - again....

[wylde]

First frost. 30 degrees this morning (-1 C) - by March, this will feel tropical, but I haven't yet acclimated, and headed out attired in gloves, headband, and heavy winter-weight coat. Also strange to be out so early - just two days ago, it was still dark at 7 am. Today the sun was peeking through the trees behind Soules' house. The hitch, of course, is that by 4:30 it's crossed the sky, and settling towards the horizon. Before too many days, it'll be dark by then.

I've taken advantage of the few sunny days allotted to us this week by washing my bedding, and putting on the winter blanket. The summer blanket is drying on the line now, and will go back into storage by the end of the day. Except for a few towels, the laundry hamper is finally empty. I'd prefer drying them on the line as well, but the shower curtain rod will have to do.

Snow in the forecast for Friday...

...and so it begins - again....

wow. ashen damped mind picture articulated...and felt.



https://youtu.be/guKoNCQFAFk


...some benefit to living the the sub-tropics...


even with humidity +90%

[sasha]

Winter is a trying time, but it's not without appeal. Layers of complexity and difficulty get added to the simplest of homely chores - even collecting the mail becomes an exercise in military logistics. No casual strolling 100 feet down the drive clad in bathrobe & slippers - at the very least, long trousers, warm shirt, and water-resistant boots must be pulled on, the latter of which must be removed upon returning to the house, lest snow be tracked across the floors and carpets. I've already bitched about this in another post: (viewtopic.php?f=73&t=30107&start=375#p201610).

But there's also a stern and austere beauty to it that rewards one for enduring the cold and the darkness and the sometimes atrocious weather. It brings a kind of perverse satisfaction to suffer the awful conditions in return for beholding that beauty - maybe a little like stoically accepting the pain of running a marathon for the sense of accomplishment it can bring. Yeah, by the time February rolls around it's gotten a little old, and you won't hear many of us waxing raphsodic about how lovely that fresh 8" of snow looks in the morning's first light - but that's all part of it, I guess. You just suck it up, deal with it best you can, and savor those occasional transcendent moments.

We all fall to our knees in thankfulness when Spring finally arrives - at least until the roads turn to mud, and the black flies hatch. Then it's back into full bitch mode. But those first timid shoots of green pushing up through last autumn's leaf litter really buoy the soul...

It's all about anticipating, accepting, and celebrating the cyclical changes I guess.

[the mingo]

Waxing rhapsodic? Whew! getting all hot up in here - quick, somebody hand me a towel!!! Whoa !

[sasha]

Waxing rhapsodic? Whew! getting all hot up in here - quick, somebody hand me a towel!!! Whoa !

Quick, someone fetch some brandy! Steady on, old man - here, drink this - there's a good fellow....

(sorry - been listening to audio books of some of those classic Edwardian era ghost stories - MR James, EF Benson, et al.... guess some of their rhetoric has oiled my gears...)

Someone once pointed out to me that you can make the most innocent declaration sound dirty if, after half a beat, you add a knowing "... if you know what I mean.". I bet the expression "oiling my gears" could benefit from that treatment - if you know what I mean....

[wylde]

[wylde]

Winter is a trying time, but it's not without appeal. Layers of complexity and difficulty get added to the simplest of homely chores - even collecting the mail becomes an exercise in military logistics. No casual strolling 100 feet down the drive clad in bathrobe & slippers - at the very least, long trousers, warm shirt, and water-resistant boots must be pulled on, the latter of which must be removed upon returning to the house, lest snow be tracked across the floors and carpets. I've already bitched about this in another post: (viewtopic.php?f=73&t=30107&start=375#p201610).

But there's also a stern and austere beauty to it that rewards one for enduring the cold and the darkness and the sometimes atrocious weather. It brings a kind of perverse satisfaction to suffer the awful conditions in return for beholding that beauty - maybe a little like stoically accepting the pain of running a marathon for the sense of accomplishment it can bring. Yeah, by the time February rolls around it's gotten a little old, and you won't hear many of us waxing raphsodic about how lovely that fresh 8" of snow looks in the morning's first light - but that's all part of it, I guess. You just suck it up, deal with it best you can, and savor those occasional transcendent moments.

We all fall to our knees in thankfulness when Spring finally arrives - at least until the roads turn to mud, and the black flies hatch. Then it's back into full bitch mode. But those first timid shoots of green pushing up through last autumn's leaf litter really buoy the soul...

It's all about anticipating, accepting, and celebrating the cyclical changes I guess.

[sasha]

I open the front door where snow frantically pours down from above, obscuring the background trees like a dense fog, and hissing as it hits the frozen, brittle leaves that carpet the ground. The ground itself is not yet frozen so there is no accumulation; but each tiny particle of ice melted by the earth's residual heat carries off a bit of thermal energy; and enough of them will, before too long, deplete that energy, and render the soil cold and hard and hospitable for those bits of ice that follow.

But a glance upward informs me that this is just a passing squall - I can see several patches of blue overhead, smudged with gray around the edges where the storm cloud ends. I round up the dog, who's been reveling in this near-forgotten experience, and open the car door for him. He jumps into the back, and whines with excitement as I climb in, shut the door, and start the engine.

It's only a mile to the trailhead, but we've passed out of the squall even before reaching the bottom of the hill. By the time we've reached the iron gate, a wan sun low in the sky casts long shadows across the old railroad grade. We disembark, I leash up the dog, and we set out along the great arcing curve where the rail bed veers from due south to southeast. Once I can see far enough ahead to assure myself we're alone, I release him, and he celebrates by charging ahead as fast as his four legs will carry him. A few hundred feet ahead he stops and looks back to assure himself I'm still coming. I call him a good dog, and he resumes his southeasterly dash.

It's only 3:45, but the sun is so near the horizon that even the few trailside laurel stands I pass block it from view entirely. It isn't particularly cold - maybe 25 F (-4 C) - but if feels colder because I'm not used to it yet, and I'm glad for the fleece I'm wearing under my heavy coat. The vanishing sun peers from between the trunks of naked trees, illuminating at ground level the woods to my left, and paints the nearby squall clouds a delicate salmon pink. I stop to admire the sky overhead - it's a Maxfield Parrish kind of sky, a magical late-afternoon sky of pink and blue and gold, overlooking a landscape peopled with fantastic mythological beings - dyads and dryads and nyads; satyrs, centaurs and pegasi - and one aging hiker with an energetic young dog. My breath issues visibly from my mouth, my eyes weep freely from the cold, my fingers are already chilled despite the gloves - but my feet are warm, my breathing steady, my freely roaming dog is familiar enough with the routine to stay in sight - and I am happy. I am alive. I have survived the first assault Time has launched against my mortality, and even though I'm well aware that I will eventually succumb, here, in this place, at this moment, I still live - I still perceive, I still comprehend, I still wonder - and I smile at my good fortune to be here, now, panting, erect, mobile, mostly functional. I am blessed. I have delayed entropy for another day. I shall exist for a little while longer.

[jackofnightmares]

“Paradox of Bridgman”

Language Communication and Jam. the human use of human beings loved that book when I was smarter than I am now

Chapter 11: Language, Confusion, and Jam
A study of the optimum distribution of word length has interesting implications for the philosophy of science. The study uses game theory and assumes a communicating team and a jamming team. The assumption of jamming forces in physics leads to wasted effort, since nature does not actively oppose the scientist (this may not be true in the life sciences, but it is certainly true in physics).

We Jam, it don't matter what I call it
so I call this Zuihitsu


another day in the republic of paradise draws to an end
entropy is a train in my favorite poem by Ferlinghetti.

Just as I used to say

Love comes harder to the aged
because they've been running
on the same old rails too long
and then when the sly switch comes along
they miss the turn

[jackofnightmares]

A scientist must have faith. The faith of the scientist can not be the faith of the Church or of the Marxist. These are faiths that follows from orders. The faith of a scientist is a faith in the laws of nature, and in the power of induction. The imposition of faith from the outside is destructive to society, because it destroys science.

Norbert Weiner ibid

[the mingo]

going carousal
needing arousal
shiny to outward
an icicle when looked at
the brain as website
always placing cookies
better than any eagle god

( I mean it's always too big to say ) - it might have something to do with distribution, after all, the one thing there is no trouble finding in the desert is sky. Forests change the landscape they inhabit and if you step into one they change you. If you look inside yourself when in a forest you will see nothing but trees. We are always inside the outside as ghost riders - the actual event overrides any description of same - we each are our own wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald & no bodies ever wash ashore.

That's the signpost up ahead. This is zuihitsu. Women shop the market for food to bring home. Once home they take the food from the bags and put everything away. Then the brain floats in the sea and says to us: " You're going to need a bigger boat "

[the mingo]

To start from right here - a dog sleeps to my right - snowing - fire in the stove, or shall I call it a heat exchange? words are funny the way they can be used - fucked with - always ready to give us something we can feel -

this is the night
someday to end

[the mingo]

snow beyond the window
river looks so extra-dark now
with white all around

me looking down from a porch
_____________________________________________________

Happening Then came upriver
to camp with Happening Now
in November *

but couldn't stay long

just wanted to say Hi

the sun shines on things
thank God for sunglasses

and Happening Then went back home,
his tracks in snow
_____________________________________________________
Things Exposed That We May See Them

she asked me if
this snow would stay

no I replied, it's too early
ground not frozen yet

she smiled
turned heading for the door

leaving me where I had been
folding blankets that came out of
the ceiling

I heard her voice later
also coming down from the ceiling

saying
"only one more room to go"
_______________________________________________________________________

sun here

I sit behind blinds

then clouds run in front of the sun
who cannot defeat it
either
_____________________________________________-*-