walking all day

Sigur Rós - Sæglópur (Inni)

eight chairs to either side  of a wooden table reflecting  flourescence from the sheen  of fresh varnish chairs to be populated  with all manner of sitters conversing and reading and texting and eating and heads down on arms sleeping and  worrying and crisis-broken  and crisis-driven and crisis-  causing and crying and  laughing and giggling and talking with tormented  invisible companions but all this is the stuff of commerce and stiff competition for sitting space in a clean, warm, well-lit place and gives commerce its death- stretching, life-taking blood when to sleep ‘neath the stars means on concrete ‘neath a bridge and I’ll swim through mud to make this point, and once the mud is hosed from my body  with fire hoses will the scars begin to firm and take shape and color and assume the design of letters to form words to build these lines, the las...

Burgos, Sunday, 11 February 2018 and when you pull the handle open your door step out onto the wet pavement in the slow rain your destination has melted into the standing water that slowly drifts to the curb and flows over the curb into the street into overflowing drains but regardless of your lost destination you run in the rain into the nearest bar and sit at the old wooden worn L-shaped bar and order a shot of hard brown liquor in a green bottle from some Scottish isle and poured neat into a highball glass and knock it back quickly and quickly order another and another and the rain soaks through the skin that wraps your skull and through the hard skull that shields your brains and mixes with blood and scotch art ensues and we all watch or read or listen or observe and are delighted or disgusted to realize that both reactions are the same and that both reactions are intended and by now you have been compensated for the...

remember them days of old when you had the bible I had the land closed my eyes to pray now you have the land and I have none

when you're confused  and the world has got you down when you feel used  and you just can't play the clown protecting you from this must be the one you love must be the one whose magic touch can change your mind don't let another day go by without the magic touch

I saw thousands  who could have overcome the darkness for the love of a lousy buck I watched them die

when you’re lost in the rain in Juarez and it’s Eastertime too and your gravity fails and negativity don’t pull you through

Alpha Blondy -  Election Koutcha (1987)

Fillobal, Galiza, Friday, 2 March 2018 so were I to pose the question can you maintain faith in a 4g age? to whom would I pose this slow speed question? and to think that I have dated this question even though it was most certainly asked in medieval times when everything   all things all thought and idea were in totality an emanation of God so simply to pose the question implied faith of a kind that is non-existent at least here in the present of this virtually besotten western world which plays out as the future to some exotic locales where faith is maintained still as if it were early medieval Spain but I return to my original question and pose a question that I piggy-backed earlier on to the original question to whom do I pose my old and slow question can you maintain faith in this 4g world? to myself reflexively or to a young tech- head expert in digital faith or do I pose the question to you?

  León, Thursday, 22 February 2018 Out in the cool of dark morning before dawn, the daily ritual of illumination spreads from the east, and with the hands and tools of many continents, some barely contiguous and some across the dense liquidity of life-crowded oceans, memory builds, always, across all perceptions, its future structures on the plane of our daily experience—these structures form patterns by which we may, if blessed, conquer moments years from now as we sit here, legs crossed, counting breaths, now, this moment, this morning. Then, ignition.   All the ancient fire she can summon pressed tight into compact steel space pushes the piston that in turn turns the mechanism that rolls us all at killer speeds to our destinies.   But that is how life, mechanical and biological, lurches forward, at what we feel and only darkly know to be only an invisible and infinitesimally timed ticking process of voliti...

Sunday, 11 February 2018, Burgos, Spain Rain rain and more rain all daylong and all nightlong— infinite repetition of drops, drops, drops, repetition after repetition—repeatedly falls heavily and seeps through goretex and wool and seeps through skin and skull into my interior chamber in steady repetition after repetition of drip, drip, drip to coalesce into dark pools onto the bone floor of my interior chamber and soak through the porous bone floor of my interior chamber down, down, deep down into memory and desire to dampen the dark stains and dry ash and leave my sodden soul  wet and dark to seep through slowly  into the darkness of echo and damp chaos of what I consider myself to be then that that I consider myself to be liquefies and in repetition after repetition drips, drips, drips slowly away into a drain that drains into the deep receiving well of emptiness that receives what really is not real and ...