Archive for Learning About Life

rumblings of a planck physics misfit…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on November 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumblings of a plank physics misfit

& i’m not sure breathing out
is as much of a solution
as it used to be. trying to keep
sane enough to listen to the music
i’m pumping into the room.
existential questions about bits,
hawking radition, information.
it’s not what the music is about,
it’s about what the music is.
sanity slips away in the strangest
of ways.

all i can offer is comparison by
analogy; without notice, tiny changes.
no two maps converge anywhere
relative to the land. confusion
reigns; reading lands the faithful in
trouble with various laws of universal
application. entropy will ensue,
in time, so we wait. didn’t mother
ever tell you how impossible
it really is? this must be why
they dance.

it’s all geography & sound.
amplitude variance is the same
as the rest of existence, another
place to put misanthropic trust;
same as faith except less preconceived.

the comfort of knowing it’s always
something encapsulates the air
& whatever is left of my ability to
reason out potential sensory data.
the whole thing reeks of ‘later’
& so do i.

exhale.

——————————————-

Perhaps overly complicated. Such things happen all the time lately. Should have stopped for BBQ; live & learn, apparently all while hungry off & on.

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down to the bone…

Posted in Learning About Life, love n' luck, Poetry, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , on October 22, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

tendons of a feather

lost the last bits of clarity
of purpose (as intended)
by the skin of luck & forest
blocked light. trees ringing
a lighthouse aren’t
inspired to greater heights;
nothing could be further from
the truth.

samples of atmosphere are puked
onto t-shirts & bumper stickers
sold at discount shit shops
littering beach roads everywhere.
what do they sell in oklahoma?
i’ve never been there & now is
no time to start.

enough hurricanes for any
coastline; too much knowing
after every bad decision comes
a cock-up redemption attempt
boiling down to the desire
toward continued existence.
all tied together like that,
it’s hard to believe
we were ever separate to
begin with.

——————————

Thoughts on comings & goings. Always one or the other it seems.

they come with questions…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Cigarette, Fear, Friendship, Laughter, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“fantasy of movement”

i don’t know where we are.
driving through arteries soon enough
to be choked with other travelers
heading back to a lodge in the
crack shack with all the evidence
of arguments & bullet holes.

we are the lovers dancing at the
end of a silver string. all
our games are scripted but no
rules are enforced. willing par-
ticipants; every penalty a bruise
with a purple/yellow story. rampant
is the mistaken belief that
this chemical road turns to dirt
later rather than sooner.

signs of resolved struggle
dash through the afternoon, dancing
through car windows. sunflower
oil & black licorice leftovers
demand no attention; given
time the precursors reconstitute
themselves. we will discover
a new form only afterward.

fighting for air…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Learning About Life, Loveable Losers, Poetry, Reader Requests with tags , , , , , , , on September 26, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

scratch of razor-claw on a concrete wall

i gave up waiting for the
temperature to melt through
my steel belt & sprinted off
into the densiflora instead.
long live pedicularis the ranger;
he holds the antidote to
purple evenings shaded blood red
where hooks & sharpened metal bits
play the part of judge & executioner
without a second thought. i
never sat on the suicide bed myself,
but i’ve heard strange rumblings
that the world is going to end.
i don’t buy it.

the bears may hold the
reign of temporary control;
i’ll give it time knowing
there is every chance the next
knock on the door will bring
a strange face with bonafide
ideas mated to the red-hot end
of blunted stick. i’ll probably get
the point sometime after it ends;
exit stage left.

i touched the razor-wire to see what
it felt like. not
sure if there’s an explanation for
such repetitious experimentation.

————————————–

(authors note)

It takes so little to refill my faith in the great microphone of indeterministic decency. Tangible evidence was the only thing that could save the moment. Thank you. You’ll never know what it’s worth to me. Next refill is on me.

late in the day considerations…

Posted in Cigarette, Descartes, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travel, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , , , on September 23, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

& what are you, anyway?

if i laugh too openly whenever
the razor closes in on one of
those mainline highway tours
it’s only because i’m holding
out hope that someday i’ll
grow up & be a cigar-store indian.
i test myself for sanity every
time i wake-up having watching
myself catch river-water in a net
under semi-dark skies.
everything is plural here.

next to the impossibly blooming
cigarette flower were palm trees
lining a riverbank illustrating a
pretense toward chalice duty
had the the sky not been so cloudy.
forgetting such experiences is
one of my chief preoccupations
& the way i spend most of my
starting into space time.

it fades to a regress of half
captured images memorable only
for the gaping holes in each frame;
the rest is mist, something about
the sun god apollo, maybe a
pattern in the camel smoke drifting
past my eyes. everything dissipates
into the same extirpated landscapes
& actions as actual rainfall
weighs on everything trying to stand
straighter tomorrow than was
possible today. cigar-store indian
training continues apace.

————————————–

Dedicated to normality. It’s more unique (at times) than one might think or expect.

the other end of the rope…

Posted in Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Marisol, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

zany antics

it was easy as listening,
developmentally capable of
debating pascals wager until
ease of passage overwhelmed
the refractions of short-timer
echoes as strings & reeds
vibrated their way from M-
theory into popular conscience.

passing out cookies to a large
crowd of heretics displaying
his generosity; stunning yet
too easy to imply real sacrifice.
verdict passed on via the
jealously wrathful, late to the scene
carrying its own semi-translucent
luck.

miracle kilter sounds like
hooves rhythmically tapping
cobblestone streets in some
forgotten era. even
without horses the sounds
come to life born again
on the backs of draft animals
pulling their weight &
a few pounds that rightfully
belong to a rider.

all of the signs & most of the
veterans agree on some
obvious equivalence. past that
i wake up hoping for luck
& the kindness of marisol. poly-
synthetic luck responding to
desperation if not prayer. aesthetics
aside, she’s holding air signs
in the water while i stand
on solid earth. copernican logic
in Linnaeus’ world.

we speak different languages
with equal precision & talk for
hours about anything but
everything.

—————————————–

During tough times it is necessary to find even the small synchronizations of hope for better days to come. Johnny Cash sings again from the iron house, & in this fucked up world, even the hurricanes end up unimpressive. Not so for the eyes of the girl looking to the past for a map of the future. Dedicated to my own sleeping beauty. Where words fail trust is the coin of the realm.

war as necessity…

Posted in History, Learning About Life, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on August 21, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

war as needed

somebody is always asking
what kind of man Napoleon
might have been had he captured
his Corsican homeland instead
of burning the armies of monarchs
for fun & profit. maybe the
arsenic coulda been saved;
of course Bernadotte clan might
have something to say about that.

the rabble never tire of this passion-
play regardless of what Pitt might
have tried. historical role call
continues same as ever. Iraqi pr soothes
whatever an empty suit can’t
convince by blowing smoke. there’s
no shortage of bodies or donated limbs;
more that never changes in usefulness
to men with stars over shoulder
& dreams of fortunate valor
covering whatever limited
intelligence was there to begin with.

dead bodies can’t comment;
living ones can’t wait to replace
the fallen. as is, as was.
where else would a jobless fellow
find a paycheck & a chance
for future advancement?

—————————————

History as the past. Fun time to be 4F, especially considering what’s coming next.