Monday, March 31, 2014
I will admit to watching some spring training games, just to convince myself there is some seasonal change coming.
Baseball means summer, in my nut head.
Get it? A psychological ploy, to trick myself into hope.
Sure, it's middle thirties and sleeting right now...
Which is what they call spring in New England.
But it is opening day.
It is baseball season...
There is hope.
(Said every baseball fan on opening day.)
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Friday, March 21, 2014
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought—and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress—he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects—saw, and shriek'd, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe.
Once I take over the world, I plan on driving around that car and having an army of whisperers who recite this poem in hushed tones as I pass by...
Does that seem weird?
It's a Lord Byron poem, by the way.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
Sunday, March 16, 2014
No good excuse for me to be thinking hard about the KTM line-up, or these Dukes in particular.
I will admit that I am...
Their adventure bike are pretty compelling. They scratch my itch to have something I could hop on and go nearly anywhere. Not that I am actually going anywhere, right now, but I like that.
But those Dukes...
The Dukes are bright orange stormtrooper of speed kinda machines.
And they sound like a swarm of Valkyries swooping down on you.
There is a 990R sitting at the local dealership taunting me, right now.
Been resisting the test ride, because A) it's been super cold, and B) I would have to explain buying another impractical machine.
It is fucking glorious, though.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Friday, March 14, 2014
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Noticed an old associate asking, on social media, about taking a long road trip.
Cross country style, by car. Driving.
Those "have you done it" and "would you, should I" kinda questions...
Maybe questions I have answers for, but hesitate to provide.
Quick accounting puts me at a minimum of a couple trips across and a few top to bottom drives, total.
More than that, really, but I have never really put too much thought into it.
There is a sense of scale that gets lost when you simply fly over the fly over states.
A loss of the sensory, for expedience, I suppose.
Rolling over the super slabs isn't much better, but you get a grander sense of things.
Not the gritty, granular reality of a given spot, unless you get past the end of the off ramp...
Past the chain gas stations, the Applebee's/Chili's/Fridays strip mall lots.
Those look the same everywhere, though you don't see that maybe, 'til you've taken the trip.
It takes some work to find the pith of a given pull-off from the highway.
You get an impression from the drive, at least...
Like when you first meet somebody and guess what they're about.
Gut instinct shit, that you have to be present to have at all...
Maybe it was too much Kerouac crack in my younger days.
Or the lingering longing of a small town boy for adventure, still less than satisfied.
Opening up an atlas is as good as reading some great novel, to me.
Follow those lines, pick out places and names of towns, dream of destinations.
Wondering what the local accent might sound like, or if the smell of summer cut grass here is the same as there.
There is that mediation, after some hours driving...
When you shut up and see the landscape like a movie rolling out in front of you.
It quiets my mind, for the effort of taking it all in, for figuring it out.
Finding a way to be present and passing through, at the same time.
Road trips have always been good for me.
They have not all been smooth or ever quite easy. There is always some thing.
The thing that makes you learn, along with the other general good times ramble tamble.
I like road trips...
Probably would never advise anybody to take one...
You gotta want to go.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Friday, March 7, 2014
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Monday, March 3, 2014
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Saturday, March 1, 2014
I think it was about this time last year that I started to lose it.
The season of discontent reached it's apex and I wallowed in the deep end of despair.
We are about at that point, again...
But not quite.
Perhaps there is a more solid resignation, to me these days.
The further one gets from the sun, the more a fondness for the dark grows.
Not mentioning it out of pride, or search for pity.
Just mentioning it.
Been working on my head a lot this winter.
Working in my head, on my head.
Feels like good work, internally...
Externally, I seem to confuse, confound and irritate.
My new thinking seems to require a refinement on my delivery, maybe.
Or, perhaps, people can stop hearing and listen instead.
That seems presumptuous of me, though, to expect that from another.
Reasonable in concept, irrational in reality.
Your probably asking yourself "what the hell is saying and what does it have to do with me."
To which I might answer "exactly."
We are at an impasse of my own construction.
Not me building walls, just me building indifference.
Because it's winter...
I should have found a new hobby, like needlepoint, maybe.